


Storm of Anguish {Temporary Hiatus}

by aqonoluna



Series: Can You Love Me Naked? [3]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Behavior, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Angst, Angst and Drama, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Beta Read, Bisexual Persona 5 Protagonist, Bisexual Sakamoto Ryuji, Budding Love, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dating, Drama, During Canon, Emotional, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gossip, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Learning Disabilities, Let Sakamoto Ryuji Say Fuck, M/M, Metaverse (Persona 5), Minor Kitagawa Yusuke/Sakura Futaba, Minor Niijima Makoto/Okumura Haru, Minor Suzui Shiho/Takamaki Ann, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Past Child Abuse, Persona 5 Protagonist Needs a Hug, Persona 5 Spoilers, Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma, Sad, Sakamoto Ryuji Has A Palace, Sakamoto Ryuji Needs a Hug, Teen Angst, Tension, Trouble In Paradise, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26015842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqonoluna/pseuds/aqonoluna
Summary: When Ryuji suddenly begins pushing away the Phantom Thieves — and especially his boyfriend — for seemingly no reason, Akira decides the best thing to do is give him space to work things out for himself.They think nothing more of it after that; it seems to be what he needs.That is, until during an early infiltration of Sae Niijima’s palace, Ryuji suddenly loses his ability to summon his Persona.With Ryuji now much angrier than normal, the scramble begins to figure out what’s going on while the deadline for Sae’s palace looms.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira & Sakamoto Ryuji, Akechi Goro & Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji
Series: Can You Love Me Naked? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859566
Comments: 32
Kudos: 85





	1. I Am Thou, Thou Art...?

**11/3  
Thursday  
After School**

“ _Damn it_!”

In attack position at the ready, Skull hissed under his breath, scowling when his attempt at summoning Seiten Taisei fell short. “What the hell, man?!” he growled, mostly to himself, but he was sure at least Panther could hear his bemoaning, being next to him. It doesn’t matter. “Come on — Seiten Taisei!” He swiped his arms in a heavy X-formation and touched his mask as he tried again, stepping forward on his better leg. This time, he managed to summon his Persona, but it was a weak, almost sickly-looking, bastardized version of it. He balked at it, dumbfounded.

Dreadfully, it would have to do.

Yelling out a command to use heavy electric damage to one of the foes, a huge, almost blinding flash-bang of lightning was sent careening at the shadow, but it fizzled out and died completely before reaching the enemy. Once more, he balked, truly unable to believe what he was seeing. “What the _eff_ was that?!” he growled again, turning to his side in just enough time to witness Seiten Taisei begin fizzling out and completely disappearing, just as the magic damage he had attempted to wield did.

_What the hell is going on?!_

“Come on, Skull, get it together! What the hell was that?!”

With a loud and barbaric, almost animalistic cry not entirely unmotivated by Oracle’s comment, Skull scrambled for his gun instead. Cocking it perhaps too aggressively, he aimed it at one of the enemies without rhyme or reason and fired — and every single one of the bullets missed, save for the last one which reflected back at him, resulting in _him_ taking the damage.

Skull yelled out in deep frustration when even _that_ missed, throwing his gun to the ground with a clatter as it skittered away from him. He could not possibly be more pissed that both of his attempts at inflicting damage to the shadow had failed, but his primary source of irritation lay in his sudden inability to summon his Persona. Not to mention, a BB Gun to the arm _fucking hurt_ no matter how one sliced it, and this one hurt him even more than usual.

At this point, a deep part of Skull wanted to go sit down.

Another part of him, the part that was surface-level, bigger, and far more stubborn and prideful than was ever necessary, absolutely scorned that idea, the very _notion_ of leaving the starting lineup he had been part of since the beginning being enough in and of itself to enrage him. He tried to focus on harnessing that rage into an attempt at summoning his Persona once more, but whether it didn’t work because his attempt was cut short or because he simply couldn’t do it anymore, he didn’t manage to determine before being interrupted.

Unfortunately for Skull, Joker was one step ahead of him as usual, always ready to deflate his ego, no matter how unintentional it may have been. It wasn’t surprising; he was the leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts and it was his job to issue a command at the drop of a pin; it was his job to know everything going on around him and react to it without an ounce of hesitation. He had to do what was best for everyone on the team _and_ what was best for their mission, whether he wanted to or not. That meant being aware of his surroundings — everyone and everything in it. 

With all of that in mind, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to him that Joker was paying attention and saw ever second of that shit-show disaster; saw his multiple failed tries at utilizing his Persona, as well as the failed follow-up with his gun.

“Skull, stand down. Queen, take his place.”

The thing was; however, it didn’t matter to Skull that Joker was doing what was best for the team — and what was best for him. To let him stay in the lineup would unquestionably mean his downfall, and perhaps even his demise. There was no telling if letting him continue trying to fight could mean his permanent death if something happened to him without his Persona. However, combined with the insult of being unable to properly wield Seiten Taisei, being told to stand down thrust Skull over an edge he was already dangerously close to. He stormed from his spot in a fury, pushing past Queen to sit with Noir, Fox, and Mona as _backup_ instead.

“Go to hell, Joker.”

The remark threw off not just Joker, but also the entire team. Skull was loud-mouthed and vulgar at the best of times, that was undebatable, but never in the six months since meeting the person Joker called his best friend — and more recently, his boyfriend — had Skull ever said something so nasty. That kind of comment was reserved for Shadows and other awful members of society, but not Joker. 

Never Joker.

For that matter, the closest Skull had ever come to telling off _any_ members of the team was when he got into a back and forth with Mona. Even then, though, despite how heated the two of them often became, he would have never even considered saying something like that.

The tension among the group was palpable at best, but it was perhaps more suffocating than that, most specifically for Noir, Mona, and even Fox — who understandably had trouble picking up on social cues, but even he knew this was abnormal — because they were currently sitting nearer to Skull, who had resigned himself to sulking in the corner, refusing to look at anyone, despite all eyes, including even Crow’s, being fixated on him. He looked frail and broken, weak and tired, sitting there in the corner, looking as though something had utterly torn him apart.

This behavior was painfully unlike Skull, and he’d even been pushing Joker away from him for almost two weeks. Joker figured pushing him away was some kind of phase he would work past, needing to work out something on his own, and he would ultimately come back to his waiting arms. However, this sudden loss of Skull’s Persona (or, at the very least, his sudden inability to properly summon it) and the subsequent outburst cursing him proved there was something far more problematic going on than Skull simply needing to sort something out with himself.

There was something incredibly wrong going on.

Despite the frazzling outburst, Joker regained his composure and made a split-second decision that the best course of action for the team now was to pull out and find a safe room.

Perhaps they could resolve this Persona issue without leaving the palace, whatever that issue might be, though he found himself greatly doubting the possibility. What’s more, it was obvious to Joker he was far from the only person surprised and shaken by Skull’s comment, which meant no one was in the right frame of mind to continue fighting right now.

Discussing whatever issue his boyfriend was having with his Persona and _him_ , as well as letting the rest of the team take a much-needed breather to work past their shock, was top priority right now.

Throwing out a Vanishing Ball and running from the Shadow fight they were in, Joker announced they were going to a safe room to rest in as he approached Skull. However, when he scooted away and shouted at him to not come any closer, Joker halted and stumbled back, startled by this second outburst. Being told to not come near Skull was somehow more painful than being told to go to hell. While Skull may have been working to push him away for two weeks, he hadn’t tried to do so with such conviction and so vocally. He couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes or the shocked gasp that followed. It happened too quickly to stop.

“It’s all right, Joker. I got him,” Panther said gently, coming up beside their leader and gently putting a hand on his shoulder. She looked down at Skull who was curled in on himself, now sitting alone, because Noir, Fox, and Mona had already gotten up at Joker’s command and moved to stand with Queen, Oracle and Crow. “I’ll help him get to the safe room. You all go on ahead, all right? I promise we won’t fall behind.”

“Joker, perhaps I should help Skull,” Crow spoke up. “After all, I do possess both Curse and Bless damage, which is what most of these shadows seem to be weak to.”

“ _No_!” Joker whirled around and shot Crow a deathly glare, as if telling him, _Don’t you dare touch my boyfriend._ As though the outburst offended him, Crow raised his hands in defense and backed off. Joker narrowed his eyes to slits. Admittedly, the logic was rather airtight. (Of course it was. After all, it would behoove a detective to have airtight logic, right?) If he were less emotional, he might have at least _considered_ the suggestion as a valid one. However, Skull didn’t trust Crow; he would hate if he helped him, and Joker would feel like an ass for allowing it. “N-no, thank you, Crow. Panther can handle it.”

After a moment, Joker cleared his throat and turned on his heels, muttering to himself before looking at Panther and sighing. “All right, Panther. I know you have a few Bless and Curse items on you. Use them in case you get into trouble, but I don’t believe you will. Get him to the safe room. Just follow us,” he said. 

“Yes, Joker. Understood.”

Joker turned once more, this time to face his little sister. “Oracle, stay in the middle of the group. If Skull and Panther start to trail behind, help them.”

“Of course, Joker. I can do that.”

“Thank you both.”

Swallowing a large lump in his throat, Joker hesitated for a moment. He watched Panther, who was in the process of helping up Skull. Something about his demeanor seemed displeased by the help, but he wasn’t vehemently objecting to it, like he’d done with him. At least someone was able to help him. He let out a shaky breath and nodded to himself, knowing his boyfriend was in capable hands with Panther. She would take care of him and get him where they needed to go.

“All right, then, everyone...” Joker paused for a moment to close his eyes and collect himself. A second later, he gave himself a firm nod, opened his eyes, and put on his usual mask of stoicism. Letting his emotions cloud what needed to be done was not going to help any of them, least of all Skull. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The first member of the team to make it to the safe room doors was, of course, Joker, considering he was always at the front of the line. When he got outside the door, he turned around on his toes and waited for the rest of his team to join him, knowing it would not take too long for them to make that happen. 

In fact, Joker was followed closely and immediately by Mona, Queen and Crow, who had been on his tail in case a fight needed to be had. They were, of course, hiding alongside walls and behind planters and such the whole way back to the safe room, but sometimes an ambush simply _happened_ and they needed to be ready, hence his starting lineup being right there with him, just in case. 

Then, acting as his temporary and only form of backup, due to his current loss of two extremely valuable party members, Fox and Noir approached them a mere moment later.

“It appears Skull and Panther are still a bit behind us,” Crow said observantly, looking around as he crossed one arm over his chest and used the hand of the other to hold his chin. “Shall we wait for them in the safe room, Joker?” It wasn’t as though he could go in himself; Joker was standing with his back pressed to the door, holding the handles to the double doors in his hands behind him.

“Nope,” Joker replied, looking forward in the direction the rest of his team would be coming in, giving none of his visual attention to Crow. “We wait right here until Panther, Skull, and _Oracle_ join us — and _then_ we go in.”

Dropping his arms to his sides, then, Crow glanced around at the other four Phantom Thieves, who were all giving him a strange look. Straightening his back, he cleared his throat and said, “Ah, but of course. As a team. Excuse me for not realizing protocol,” then moved away to stand next to Fox, who was framing parts of his surroundings with his hands like he usually did. He even took a few moments to frame Crow when he showed up.

“Mm,” Joker replied dismissively, but said nothing else.

“I know you’re new with us, Crow, so... We do everything as a team only,” Noir said rather warmly, standing on the other side of Fox, paying him no real mind. When she glanced to Queen for confirmation, she merely nodded in agreement before Noir looked back to Crow. “That includes going into a safe room.”

“Hmm. Thank you for the lesson, Noir. I will remember it.”

Fox took a moment to frame Noir and Crow, as if painting a mental image of them and their conversation. Neither of them paid him much attention, with the former of the two assuming it was his way of dealing with the anxiety of what happened with Skull.

The wait for Joker’s little sister, best friends, and boyfriend to join them outside the safe room was an agonizing stint of time. His anxiety increased as the seconds ticked by, though he wore a mask of carefully crafted calmness just as any leader should. Getting worked up in front of his teammates would do nothing more than create panic where panic was very much unneeded and would solve nothing.

Still, though... Where _were they_?

After close to ten minutes of waiting, Joker’s ever-mounting anxiety dissipated in a heartbeat when Oracle appeared alongside Panther, who was guiding Skull by supporting his weight on her shoulder.

With the whole team of nine accounted for, _now_ they could head into the safe room.

The safe room looked like any other safe room in any other palace. In the middle of the room was a giant conference table with enough room to easily sit twelve people, but only enough chairs to comfortably accommodate five. The rest of the room was nothing special or too interesting, as the main, and arguably only purpose of the safe room was to be a place where the Phantom Thieves could come together, heal, and take a breather — and plan out their next course of actions, if need be.

The latter, of course, was what they were here to do now.

Per usual, Joker took the spot at the head of the table, as the usual head of these meetings. Queen sat to Joker’s right, whereas Mona jumped onto the middle of the table like he usually did. Crow stood to Joker’s left, but not after he had been standing against the far wall at first, only moving when Joker badgered him enough to come to the table to be part of the team. He remained standing.

To Crow’s left was Fox, who sat down and crossed his legs in the chair. Then, sitting directly to the right of Queen, was Noir.

Finally, Oracle, Panther, and Skull all came in, with Oracle closing the door behind them.

Oracle took a seat at the other end of the table from Joker, getting out her laptop. Already, she had it open and was typing something, completely focused.

With two seats left, Panther sat Skull down as far away from everyone as she could manage to get them, at his request, while still ensuring he was part of the group, at her own pressing. She took a seat next to him, essentially shielding him away from everyone while still making sure he would get attention if he spoke up.

Something about seeing Panther shield Skull from everyone in the room, including himself, made Joker’s stomach churn in the worst ways. Had he done something to upset his boyfriend? He had undeniably told him to go to hell, but he had thought that only a frustrated reaction to losing control of his Persona. 

However, combined with the fact he was already avoiding him in day-to-day life...

Joker sighed and shook his head free of the thought, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. That was something he could deliberate for another time. Right now, they needed to try and figure this out.

“What’re our thoughts?”

Mona asked the same question all the time but this time, it didn’t fit the situation. It was too light; it was too _fun_. It rang too much as them taking a break to recharge before going back to fight more shadows and continue securing the route to the treasure, and not enough as them completely halting their mission to figure out what was happening with his boyfriend’s Persona.

“We’re in here to discuss what’s happening with Skull.”

“He lost control of his persona and can’t seem to summon it anymore.”

“Obviously,” Joker replied, allowing a slight scowl to break through his steadily crafted mask of calm stoicism. “You’re the expert here on personas, Mona. _Why_ has he suddenly lost control of his persona?”

“I don’t know, Joker. He’s useless?”

“Mona,” Joker reprimanded. His features remained largely unchanged, but there was a flint of irritation dancing in his eyes. “ _Enough_.” 

Mona immediately dipped his head, tail figuratively between his legs. “Okay, all right, I’m sorry. You’re right. That was uncalled—”

Skull snarled from behind Panther, suddenly getting to his feet. Slamming his hands down on the table, the sound echoed through the room and reverberated through the ears of everyone, awarding him the group’s shocked attention. “Mona, I swear if you don’t shut the _fuck up_ , you little piece of—”

“Skull,” Joker said in a very similar tone to the way he had been speaking to Mona. Skull was his boyfriend and he loved him beyond reason, but no one on the team was provided any preferential treatment while in the Metaverse. Everyone was treated equally. They would be here, doing this, if this exact same situation were happening to anyone else on the team. No question. “That is _enou_ —”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Joker!” Skull hissed, looking at Joker to meet his eyes. His eyes were full of rage and, strangely, glowing a slight yellowish. It wasn’t rage that was directed at anyone in particular, though. He was angry and was only sparring with Joker because he took the bait. “I am _so fucking sick_ of that _piece of shit_ —” He jabbed his finger in Mona’s direction. “—constantly talkin’ shit about me!”

“Skull, please sit down,” Joker said through his teeth, his lips pressing into a small line. He forced his tone into neutrality. After all, he was the level headed leader; he couldn’t be bickering, no matter how human he was and how much this was getting to him. A lot had happened in the last hour and even he had his limit. “I know you’re upset and I get that. Mona had no right to say that about you, but I’ve already reprimanded Mona for what he—”

“He’s just gonna say the same shit again!” Skull spat back in response, completely ignoring Joker. “He always does!”

“I’ll take care of it later, Skull,” Joker continued through his teeth, still forcing his tone into neutrality. Him getting angry would solve nothing and would only serve to make Skull even more angry. “Right now, we’re here to discuss _you_ and why you seem to have lost control of your Persona.”

Skull growled and clenched his fists, pressing them into the table. However, when it became obvious that Joker wasn’t amused and was definitely not going to verbally spar with him anymore, he grumbled to himself about _“_ _The hell do you guys care for anyway? Considerin’ I’m so damn useless to you all.”_ and fell back into his seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He was no longer looking at Joker, nor anyone else in the room, his eyes having already fallen to the table to focus on a particularly interesting fleck of dust sitting at the corner.

It was better this way; it’s not as though Skull wanted to get into a fight with Joker, anyway. He had simply been making it easy to do because he was addressing him. It was for the best that Joker made it clear he wouldn’t put up with the way he was acting.

Frowning mostly to himself, Joker sighed and took a few moments to regain his composure before he cleared his throat. Rather than his jacket, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants, instead, and sighed as he stood up a bit straighter.

Finally, he addressed the room.

“Do we have any theories? Anything at all?”

“Nothing at all,” Oracle replied. “I can’t even get a reading on whether his persona is still _there_ or if it’s just dormant. There’s just... literally no readings at all, Joker. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Maybe Skull is overworked,” Noir suggested, looking down the table at the Phantom Thief in question, watching him for a moment as he seemingly stared at nothing. “Perhaps all he needs is some rest and he’ll be good as new.”

“I don’t know about that. Would simply being tired really result in the complete loss of a persona?” Queen countered thoughtfully, frowning. “We’ve all been plenty tired after a go through a palace or after going into Mementos, but none of us have ever lost our personas,” she said. “I mean, this hasn’t even happened to Skull up until today and he’s, what, the second-oldest member of this team?”

“The third,” Mona grumbled.

“You, me, Panther, and Skull all joined at the _same time_. Be quiet unless you have something helpful to add,” Joker scolded, glaring at Mona. When he looked back to Queen, he gestured a hand in her direction, giving her back the floor. “Please continue.”

“That was all I really had to say,” Queen said, shaking her head. She stole a glance in Skull’s direction, watching as he remained occupied with staring at the table. “Unfortunately, I’m drawing a blank. I wish I could be more helpful, but... I don’t know a lot about this stuff.” She looked across the table, gesturing as she said, “What about you, Crow? You’re a detective. Can you think of anything?”

“Me?” Crow straightened up, giving Queen a puzzled look. He looked to Skull briefly, then turned to Joker, who was holding his hands behind his back. His neutral expression was watching Crow, waiting for his response. “What would I know of Skull losing his Persona? I only just recently awoke to Robin Hood, after all.”

“Within the last month, right?” Fox asked.

“That has nothing to do with Skull’s current situation, Fox,” Queen said, sighing, then turned to Crow. “Thanks for your input, Cro—”

“Oh! Well, actually...” Crow began, pinching his thumb and pointer finger to his chin. Once more, he turned to Skull to watch him, scrutinizing him. “Excuse my interruption, but I had a thought just now... Has this ever happened before?” he asked, looking back to Joker.

Hidden beneath his mask, Joker quirked an eyebrow, while simultaneously knitting them together. “Happened before?” he echoed. “No, Crow. Skull has never—”

“No, no...” Crow waved off Joker dismissively. “Perhaps I should have made myself more clear. I do not mean Skull. I mean _at all_. Has this ever happened to anyone at all?”

“Oh.” Joker took a moment to consider the question, but, of course, he had no idea. As knowledgeable as he was about Personas, the Metaverse, and phantom thievery, he didn’t have all the answers.

Mona had more answers than him, though, so he turned to him, arms crossed. “Well?” he asked, as if he should have already jumped in and responded by now. “Has something like this ever happened to someone, Mona?”

“N-no...” Mona murmured, thinking about his response for a moment before he shook his head to seal his answer. Before Joker has a chance to speak, though, he continued on. “It’s strange. Oracle said she can’t pick up on any trace of his Persona. It’s like... Well, obviously she said it isn’t there, but... It’s like his persona just abandoned him or something.” He paused briefly. “Like I said, I’ve never seen or heard of something like this happening before, so I’m at a loss.”

“Hmm.” Crow hummed to himself, his features displaying his careful consideration as Mona finished speaking. Turning to Skull once more, he watched him closely, again, before turning to Joker and saying, almost valiantly, “I believe I have a hypothesis, Joker.”

“All right, then... What is it?”

“I believe something may have happened to Skull internally,” he said, ignoring everyone’s looks of confusion as he continued. “You know, based solely off what I understand of a Persona User developing a Persona, I believe it may even be possible that Skull has _lost_ his Will of Rebellion.”

“ _Lost_ his Will of Rebellion?” Joker almost balked at the idea, but he reeled himself in, forcing himself to keep composure. After all, these were mere suggestions. Ideas. _Theories_. It was nothing to get worked up over. “Crow, how would that even be possible?” After all, one didn’t just... lose their will to rebel.

Right?

Crow shrugged lazily. “Well, clearly _something_ must have happened. As far as I know, one does not simply ‘lose’ their Persona unless there is something seriously wrong with the Persona User.” He paused for a moment and considered all of what he had said; considered everything that was currently happening. After a moment, he shrugged again and dropped his arms to his side. “Of course, please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong."

The room fell eerily quiet. The looks of confusion everyone held seemed to indicate no one _actually agreed_ with Crow’s assessment about Skull’s Will of Rebellion, but as no one had anything better to suggest, everyone remained quiet.

The silence in the room was deafening.

Furrowing his eyebrows as he realized the room fell silent, Skull looked up. _Lost my Will of Rebellion?_ he thought to himself, looking around at everyone, taking in their expressions. He couldn’t quite read what their expressions were conveying, but he heard the silence loud and clear.

“Are you guys fuckin’ kidding me?”

The quiet, gruff growl caught everyone’s attention and, as a collective whole, every member of the team, including even Crow, snapped their attention to Skull. Their eyes widened in surprise, but none of them seemed to be able to find their voices to say something. 

At least, not until Skull started ranting.

“Are you guys _fuckin’ kidding me_? You’re actually going with what he’s saying?! He’s blowin’ smoke out his fuckin’ ass and you all know it!” Getting to his feet almost too fast, Skull leaned forward and slammed his clenched fists so hard against the table that the sound echoed and startled everyone — and they all watched him do it. It even made Joker jump in his boots, however slightly. “I can’t fuckin’ believe you guys would even _consider_ that bullshit! This has to be a joke!” he snarled, picking up and slamming his fists against the table again, and again, and again, _and again_ , to enhance his next thought. “I have just as much of a Will of Rebellion as all of you! How _dare you_ bring my fucking loyalty as a Phantom Thief into question like—!”

Besides Crow, everyone else on the team hurried to Skull’s side when he started repeatedly slamming the table. (Except for Panther, who was already sitting at his side.) They began spouting an onslaught of comments that were meant to be soothing and calm him down. _Skull, calm down, it’s all right._ or _We’re only theorizing what could possibly be going on._ or _We know you’re a loyal member of the Phantom Thieves; we would never question that._ and other variations of such comments.

However, the comments were all just noise to Skull. It was all just noise mixing with the noise he was already making by pounding his fists against the table; it was all just noise that was mixing with the sounds of static sizzling in his head, threatening to deafen and somehow simultaneously intensify the noise around him.

“Shut the fuck up!” Skull shrilled, backing away from the table, hands pressed over his ears to block out the sound around him; to try and block out the sound from within him. “Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

Everyone immediately stopped in their tracks.

They didn’t stop because Skull was telling them all to shut up and backing away. Rather, they suddenly stopped because he wasn’t, well... It was so unceremonious and so fast. They almost couldn’t even process what happened. One minute Skull was pissed off and yelling, pounding the table — and the next, he was screaming at them to shut up as he backed away from them. It was in the short transitional period between tantrum and backing away that his costume completely disappeared. A bright, brief flash of blue illuminated the room and then his costume was gone, taking from him the last piece that made him _Skull_.

It didn’t take Skull long to notice.

“I...” An array of emotions all collected at once on Skull’s fully exposed features, almost making him look like he was in pain but he sounded livid when he spoke. “What—?!”

Before Skull had a chance to start ranting again, or even say anything at all, Joker put up a hand to stop him, shaking his head. It was evident they were going to get nothing done by discussing this in the Metaverse, and they especially were not going to get anything done by deliberating this in front of Skull.

“We’re going home.”

“Joker!” Skull began. “We can go home yet. We have a—!”

“This isn’t up for debate,” Joker said firmly. “We are going home and we’ll take the time to figure out what’s going on there.” Although he was already looking in his direction, Joker looked squarely at Skull as he said, “No more arguing. No more yelling. We are going home. We have a mission, and I know that, but we are putting this mission on hold until we can figure out what’s going on with you.”

Crow turned and looked at Joker. “On hold?” he echoed, the concern in his tone palpable despite his attempt at forming a neutral expression. “Is it truly necessary that we—?”

“I said no more arguing! That means from any of you! We are going home!” Joker snapped, immediately forcing Crow to back off, but that didn’t stop them from staring each other down. Joker won because a very putout Crow rolled his eyes and looked away first. _That’s what I thought, damn it_ , Joker thought, narrowing his eyes.

A moment later, Joker was smoothing his coat, adjusting his mask, and pushing back his hair, as if he hadn’t just rose his voice. “Now,” he began, gently, evenly, moving closer to Skull as he held out a hand to him, as if he were approaching a wounded animal in the wild, “let’s go back to the real world so we can—”

“N-No!” Skull cried, stumbling back. He nearly tripped over the chair behind him, but Panther caught him by the arm at the last second. Scrambling into her hold, he watched Joker (who had already come to a complete standstill) like a hawk, the panic in Skull’s eyes almost turning them completely black with the dilation of his pupils. “D-Don’t come near me! Stay away from m-me, damn it!” he stammered, voice breaking.

_What?_

When Joker was far enough away, Skull verbally sparred with him. When he got closer, he panicked and backed away like a scared, wounded animal.

_What the hell is going on with you?_

“I...” Joker dropped his hand to his side, shoulders falling slack. The only indication he was affected. His expression remained utterly neutral, otherwise. “Panther, do you think you can—?”

“Yes, Joker.”

“Right.” Joker cleared his throat and nodded, turning away from the pair. He spent a few moments facing no one, before he turned to the group. “Thank you, Panther,” he said. “Is everyone ready?”

“Yes, Joker,” everyone responded almost in unison. “We can go now.”

“Perfect,” Joker said, turning to face the door, raising his right hand and pressing his index finger and thumb together. “Let’s get out of here, then. Everyone stay where you are,” he said, and proceeded to snap his fingers, mentally focusing on everyone in the room as he did. He could use his Third Eye to travel without danger between safe rooms and the entrance. It made productively going through a palace much easier.

Although he didn’t move as directed, because he didn’t want to get left behind, a thought fluttered in and out of Crow’s mind as they jumped from one safe room to the next before finally arriving at the entrance. 

_Huh. What_ makes _someone lose their Persona?_


	2. Spreading Rumors

**11/3**  
**Thursday**  
**Evening**

Akira sighed as he walked into Café Leblanc.

Parting ways with his team after leaving the Palace had been almost as mentally taxing as the last half an hour of being in the Palace itself. 

_“We’ll be taking an indefinite hiatus from Sae Niijima’s Palace until we can resolve whatever is happening with Ryuji and his ability to summon his Persona. If he’s truly lost his Will of Rebellion, we need to find out why so we can hopefully fix the issue.”_

Much to Akira’s surprise, no one had argued with him when he issued that statement. Granted, he had said they were putting the mission on hold before leaving the Palace, but he hadn’t made a finalized statement about it until after they had left. 

Assuredly, someone should have had something to say about it... 

Though, he supposed he could also see where no one did, considering how many times he had let his mask slip and lost his temper. It was possible no one wanted to argue with someone they thought would snap at them for doing it.

It was simultaneously a relief for them to agree so easily and upsetting that no one tried to counter him.

In fact, as soon as the Phantom Thieves arrived back in the real world, it took all of about two minutes for more than half of the team to disperse and go their separate ways — and that was including the fifteen seconds Akira had taken to make his decree.

Makoto was always studying to prepare for College Entrance Exams. (Sometimes it seemed as though the only time she wasn’t worrying about Entrance Exams was when she was at school or doing something with/for The Phantom Thieves.) As a result, she excused herself by saying she needed to go home and work on that, but to call her if anything changed with Ryuji, or if she was needed in some way at all.

Haru had business related to Okumura Foods to tend to, so she was the second to excuse herself from the group as soon as they arrived back in Tokyo. Similar to Makoto, she told Akira to alert her if anything changed with regard to Ryuji’s condition, or if she was simply needed for anything.

Ann and Ryuji didn’t say much. Ann told Akira that she was going to take Ryuji home, but that was about it from either of them. His boyfriend had nothing to say to him, and after being told he was going to be taken back to his apartment, Ann turned and left with him rather unceremoniously. 

It happened so damn quickly. 

Leaving Akira staring at the spot where Ryuji had been standing not seconds before, he, for some reason, found himself feeling as though he’d never see him again. It was obviously untrue; he would see him in school the next day, but he couldn’t help the strange feeling.

Finally, Yusuke and Akechi were less tactful about parting from the group. Yusuke stated he had an art piece that needed to be finished, whereas Akechi said he had a pile of work that he needed tending to. Both of them left in the same direction, but were far enough apart so as to not make it look like they were leaving together.

If anyone had looked like they were going to argue with Akira, or at least looked like they wanted to, it was Akechi. That made sense; this was his mission, after all... but he was the leader, and if he said they were taking a break from the mission, then, damn it, they were going to take a break.

After all, the Phantom Thieves were, first and foremost, a team. They did nothing except as a team.

“Come on, then, Akira,” Futaba had said once Morgana, Futaba, and himself were the last ones standing around. For some reason she was the one who had Morgana on her shoulder instead of in his bag, but it made sense when he explained why. He said nothing when he said he’d be spending the night with her. Usually he only did that when Akira wanted to spend the night with Ryuji, but... Who was he to prevent them from spending time together, if they wanted to do so? “It’s getting pretty late. We should go home.”

Thus, Akira sighed as he entered Café Leblanc, the events of the last couple hours playing on repeat in his mind like a broken record.

“Tough day, Kid?”

“Uh...” Akira blinked and turned to look at Sojiro, furrowing his eyebrows like he didn’t understand the question. There was so much going on in his head that it took him far too long to clear his mind enough to process and respond to the question. “Yeah, I guess it was a little bit harder today than usual.”

“Did something out of the ordinary happen?” Sojiro asked, raising an eyebrow. “Where’s Morgana and Futaba?”

“They went back to your house at the last second,” he said, sitting down at the bar, crossing his arms and resting them on the counter to lean on them. “Morgana said he wanted to stay the night with Futaba, so...” He shrugged. “Who am I to tell him no?”

Akira sighed softly and looked down at the counter, at his crossed arms, debating if he should even answer the first question or not; deliberating _how_ he should answer the first question, if he did answer it at all.

Almost five weeks prior to today, Akira had come out to Sojiro; had told him he was bisexual. In just about the same breath, he also admitted to having told Ryuji he liked him (in possibly the dumbest way ever, now that he thought back on it).

Although Sojiro was accepting of Akira’s sexuality, and even accommodating of his relationship, something in the back of Akira’s mind said he wouldn’t understand what was going on with Ryuji right now, even if he broke it down. Moreover, something told him he would ultimately brush it off as some kind of a ‘lover’s quarrel’ or something and tell him it would eventually work out.

Perhaps it _was_ just a lover’s quarrel. It wasn’t like Akira had any idea what was going on beyond Ryuji being upset and angry, after all. 

Did a lover’s quarrel usually result in the loss of someone’s Persona and Will of Rebellion, though?

Even still, even if this _was_ a lover’s quarrel (a phrase he was quickly becoming tired of mulling over), then... what were they fighting about? What was Ryuji mad at Akira for? It’d been two weeks and the most he’d gotten out of him was nothing more than _“I’m fine, but I have to go.”_ Today was the most they had spoken to each other in two weeks, and most of it had been them fighting, Ryuji cowering in fear and yelling at him when Akira tried to come near, or his boyfriend telling him where he could go.

Ryuji cowering in fear still stung the most, but being told off was certainly a close second.

“Are you hungry? I’ll get you some curry.”

Akira nodded, his stomach growling a moment later, almost making him blush because of the timing. “Uh... Y-Yeah. Please. I guess I am pretty hungry,” he murmured. It occurred to him he hadn’t eaten since that morning. Never mind the fact physical activity in the Metaverse made him insanely hungry, he was famished because of the stress surrounding Ryuji’s situation. “Thank you,” he said, taking his arms off the counter and sitting up a little bit straighter.

“You got it, Kid,” Sojiro said and moved to the kitchen. He glanced around the corner, seeming satisfied he could still see Akira from where he stood. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“Of course, Sojiro. Thank you, again.”

Akira sighed through his nose, putting his arms back on the counter as soon as Sojiro was out of sight. Going back to staring at his arms, he let the events of the last few hours replay in his mind once more.

It wasn’t just the replay of the day that went through Akira’s mind. It was an ambush of questions, as well. Every time he remembered something from the day; every time he dwelled on being told off, or on his boyfriend being seemingly afraid of him, or on their bickering back and forth in the safe room, he was met with a question for which he had no answer.

_Why are you afraid of me?_

_Did I do something without realizing it?_

_What could have you so mad at me?_

_Is there a reason you won’t talk to me anymore?_

He was just letting _“Go to hell, Joker”_ replay in his mind for the umpteenth time (because, perhaps, that one hurt a little more than he was willing to let himself admit) when he heard Sojiro’s voice cut through his thoughts. It was then he became aware he’d let tears start to fall, so he aggressively wiped them away before allowing himself to look up. He found himself facing no one because Sojiro was still in the kitchen alcove.

“You know, K— Er, Akira...” Sojiro took a moment to clear his throat as he stared into the pot of simmering curry, stirring it a few times to agitate the flavors and prevent anything from sticking to the bottom of the pot. “I may not understand all this phantom thief stuff fully, but I am still your guardian — and I am Futaba’s guardian — and... well...”

Taking a moment to pile two, large scoops of rice onto the plate he was holding, Sojiro ladled the curry onto half of the rice, letting the rest of it pool around the mounds. Leaving the kitchen to stand face-to-face with Akira, he put the plate on the counter before he continued speaking. 

By that point, Akira had dried up his tears, so he could look at Sojiro as he spoke.

“What I’m trying to say is — and I don’t know when you kids got me so sentimental,” he continued, smoothing back his hair, and pressing his hand to the back of his neck, his other hand on his hip, “but if there’s something going on with any of you kids, I’m here to help however I can.” He paused, then added after another moment, “Even if my help is just some dad advice.”

Akira let out a shaky breath, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. (He had thought himself done crying, but apparently having a guardian who cared this much was still an emotional sore spot.) He didn’t let himself respond until he had the waterworks under control.

“It’s Ryuji,” he finally let himself say, picking up his spoon to eat. He didn’t know why he was letting this flow so easily, except that Sojiro’s spiel had pulled it out of him.

However, Akira supposed he needed to get this off his chest if he was going to proceed; if he was going to be able to focus on fixing the issue. Who better, too, to tell his concerns to than Sojiro, his concerned guardian who didn’t really understand what was going on, so he wouldn’t ask too many questions. He also wasn’t under his command as leader, so it wouldn’t affect anything for him to get a little bit emotional. 

“I... He’s been pushing me away for the last couple of weeks. I thought nothing of it, but he... He lost his Persona today, after telling me off, after cowering from me in fear... and after fighting with me.” He sighed, somehow feeling better, having told someone about that. “Akechi thinks he lost his Will of Rebellion, but... and... Well, I... I don’t know what to think, but something happened and he... Now he can’t fight anymore.”

Sojiro was quiet for a few moments, watching Akira eat, processing everything he had just been told. “So... Ryuji isn’t a Phantom Thief anymore?” he finally asked.

The question surprised Akira more than it probably should have. It was an honest enough rebuttal, but it was one he hadn’t given any consideration. Looking up at Sojiro, then, he furrowed his eyebrows and stared at his guardian for a few moments, taking him in and saying nothing. It wasn’t until he sniffed and finally started eating again, an obvious new resolve radiating from him, that he finally spoke.

“No, Ryuji _is_ a Phantom Thief,” he said. “He _is_. Nothing will ever change that — and we are going to get his Persona back, even if it’s the _last damn thing_ we do as a team.”

Akira just... had no idea how they were going to do that.

* * *

“So... What do you think?”

“What do I think about what, Mona?” Futaba asked, turning in her swivel chair to look at Morgana, who was sitting on her bed. “I’m thinking about a lot of things. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Ryuji!” Morgana huffed, eyes becoming slits when Futaba laughed. He should have known the question was only meant to rile him up, but he still let it. He groaned as he laid down on the bed, curling his legs under his body in what humans seemed to call a ‘loaf’ position, and continued his thought. “Ugh... Come on. You know what I’m talking about, Futaba. What do you think about Ryuji? Do you suppose there’s some merit to what Akechi was saying in the palace? About him losing his Will of Rebellion?”

“I don’t think it’s a bad hypothesis, and I kind of agree with him, to be honest, though it isn’t much to go on right now. I think it’s definitely worth looking into, though, to see what information I can find to support the idea,” Futaba replied, turning to face her computer once more. She went back to feverishly typing, but didn’t stop talking as she did. “The thing is, I kind of _really doubt_ there’s any research out there about Persona users suddenly losing their abilities, because I’m inclined to believe this has never happened before, but... Perhaps I can piece together an answer for this based on the information that _is_ available,” she said. She paused for a moment, musing over something, then went back to typing with a sigh. “It would be nice if I had access to my mom’s research, but... We’ll just have to make due, I guess.”

Morgana nodded, sighing softly. It wasn’t a very satisfactory answer, but it was clearly all Futaba could provide him right now. Trying to ask questions or press for more information would be pointless and frustrating for them both.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” he said, yawning and stretching out his front legs. “You gonna be up for a while?”

“Most likely.”

“Make sure you at least get some sleep.”

“I promise nothing.”

“Futaba...”

“Hey, I’m not Akira,” she countered. “I don’t know how you do it to him; I don’t know how or why he even listens to you, but... You can’t tell me to go to sleep.”

Morgana sighed quietly, almost sounding exasperated. He opened his mouth to say something, anything at all, but he ultimately decided against it; decided that it really wasn’t all that worth it. It wasn’t worth it because he was too tired to keep going back and forth. 

“All right,” he replied. “Do what you want.”

Morgana curled up in a tight ball in the middle of Futaba’s futon, one of his front paws resting over his face and eyes to block out the little bit of light from a streetlamp coming in through the window. It didn’t do the best job at blocking out the light, but it was better than nothing.

After that, Morgana was asleep within seconds.

* * *

**11/4**  
**Friday**  
**Morning**

Akira did not sleep well.

“Kurusu! Pay attention!” Akira jolted, sitting up straight with his eyes wide, as if he were some kind of a deer in the headlights. Of course he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing, but what he was more nervous about was being too tired to dodge the chalk Mr. Ushimaru was revving up to throw at him. “This isn’t time for you to be staring off into space!”

Mr. Ushimaru was in the process of winding up to throw the chalk when the familiar sound of the PA system crackled to life. When the even more familiar sound of Ms. Kawakami’s voice practically _sang_ through the speaker, Akira spoke a silent prayer of thanks to whatever or whoever was watching over him in that moment, to allow for such protection from the embarrassment of being pelted with a piece of chalk he knew he wouldn’t be able to dodge.

“Mr. Ushimaru,” said Ms. Kawakami, “please come to the Faculty Office. Mr. Ushimaru, you’re needed in the Faculty Office immediately.”

Although he grumbled about the interruption, Mr. Ushimaru dropped his arm and set down the chalk on his desk. He told the class to study independently and keep quiet while he was gone. He grumbled about the interruption once more, but left the classroom without another word.

As soon as he was gone, Akira dropped his head on his desk once more.

“You seem exhausted,” Morgana said from inside the desk. Although Akira couldn’t see him, he could hear the frown in his voice. He couldn’t decide if he appreciated the concern or if it annoyed him. “I take it you didn’t sleep much last night, huh?”

“No, I didn’t sleep much.”

“Spent the night thinking about Ryuji?”

“Of course I did,” he mumbled, stifling a yawn he knew would end up being loud. He thought about adding ‘ _Not to mention, I don’t sleep well on my own. You know that,’_ but decided he didn’t feel like making Morgana feel bad for staying the night with Futaba. “What else is there to think about right now?”

“Futaba is looking into it as we speak,” Morgana said gently. “Or... Well, she could also be passed out on her keyboard from staying up all night...” He paused for a moment, but quickly said, “Well, either way, she’s going to figure out what’s going on, all right?” 

When his comment was only acknowledged with a simple hum and not anything more concrete, he sighed. It was clear Futaba looking into this wasn’t going to make him feel better, because of course Akira wanted to deal with this himself. He always wanted to deal with things himself, even if he simultaneously had help from others. After all, he was a doer; he was a leader. He wasn’t the kind of person to just sit back and wait for something to happen. He was the kind of person who lunged into _making things happen_ and then dealt with those things as he went.

After all, if Akira was the kind of person who sat back and waited for someone else to do something, he wouldn’t be in Tokyo at all.

“Perhaps you can try talking to Ryuji in the meantime?” Morgana suggested, though there was noticeable hesitation in his tone. After all, he’d made it pretty clear in Sae’s palace that he didn’t want Akira near him; made it very evident that he was angered by him for some reason. “You could... See if maybe you can talk to him about anything?”

“Yeah. Maybe...” Akira sighed, closing his eyes.

Just as he was about to blissfully fall into a nap, Akira was startled by a familiar-sounding voice addressing him, one he couldn’t pinpoint a name to. However, something in the back of his sleep-deprived mind told him he should know the name of the person addressing him, because they were someone he’d spoken to at least once before.

If he weren’t so damn tired, perhaps he could have more easily put a name to the voice.

“Kurusu-kun?” said the voice, hesitation and resolve both palpable in every word, as though they had just spent a not-insignificant amount of time working up the courage to talk to him. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you, but I... I wanted to ask you a question.”

Akira sighed softly and pushed himself up, turning in his seat to look at the person standing next to him. Blinking a couple times, to focus his bleary vision, he immediately recalled who the person beside him was once he got a good look. She was in class with him, of course, which was why she was here, but he’d also learned her name in the last couple weeks, when he’d been making out with Ryuji by the vending machines.

Now _that_ memory stung.

“What is it, Kato-san?” he asked, immediately wincing at his wording. It sounded so pointed and rude, though she didn’t seem affected by it. (If she was, he either didn’t notice or she didn’t let it show.) Still, he changed up his wording a bit and instead said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. I’m... I’m tired. How can I help you?”

“I... Well, actually, you can c-call me Yumika,” she said. She wasn’t expecting him to let her call him Akira, but when he didn’t respond at all, she brushed a hand through her hair and continued. “Well, all right... so, um... I was just going to ask about you and Sakamoto-kun,” she said, arms behind her back, hands clasped as she swayed between one foot and the other. As she wrung her hands behind her back, she avoided eye contact with Akira by looking down at the cat hidden in his desk. It seemed uninterested in her presence, as it wasn’t bothering to look at her, so she looked down at the floor instead. “U-um... I noticed that you two haven’t been around one another for the past couple weeks — and I just...” She cleared her throat — quietly, so as to not draw attention to herself or their conversation — but it did little to clear the trembling in her voice as she spoke. “Well, I just thought you and Sakamoto-kun were dating, but you seem to be recently avoiding one another... a-and there’s rumors about it, so I... I thought I’d, you know, ask you about it, because of the rumors... and...” She paused to clear her throat again. A little louder this time, so she could more easily push back her nerves. “Did something happen?”

Akira was already agitated before Kato-san — Yumika-san — even finished her nervous rambling. He began bouncing his leg restlessly to stop himself from full-blown shouting at her in frustration... and it was no wonder Ryuji was always bouncing his leg. It helped, if at least a little bit.

“We _are_ dating,” he snapped — but at least he didn’t shout— immediately after she stopped talking. Truth be told, he hadn’t even been listening to what she said; she brought up Ryuji, and he immediately tuned out the rest, knowing what she was going to say. He’d merely waited for her to stop talking, so he could respond. “Nothing _happened_. There isn’t some _juicy gossip_ for you to find out and report on. Ryuji and I _are_ dating and we’re _just damn fine_.”

Yumika already hadn’t been making eye contact with Akira, but she somehow managed to make even less eye contact with him when he started ranting. However, her nervous habit of swaying from one foot to the other ceased, as did the fact she was wringing her hands. Instead, she let her arms fall to her sides.

Looking at the cat in the cubby of Akira’s desk again, she frowned when it seemed to be glaring at her, as if it were mad at her for upsetting its owner. Did that mean his cat was some kind of an emotional support animal? She did recall that Ryuji had told her Akira didn’t like talking to strangers, but did that mean strangers made him anxious? Is that why he had a cat? Or did he have it because he was convicted of assault? Either way, it would explain the fact he constantly had it with him, and might even explain the yellow collar, if her understanding of the different awareness colors was up to snuff — and, also, depending on the real reason Akira always had a cat, of course.

Yellow meant... Well, it meant a lot of things...

When she noticed Akira had stopped ranting, she bit her lip and swallowed the lump in her throat, finally letting herself look up at him and make eye contact. It felt risky, but he had already snapped at her. There wasn’t much else he could say or do at this point.

Akira looked as angry as he sounded.

To be honest, he also looked extremely tired — and not just in a ‘he didn’t get sleep _last night_ ’ kind of way, but, rather, that he hadn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in _a while_.

Just as Yumika opened her mouth to say something in response to Akira’s ranting, the bell rang to indicate it was lunchtime. It caught her off guard for a moment, pulling her attention toward the sound of the noise. By the time she looked back, mere seconds later, if that, Akira had already collected up his cat into his bag and was making a beeline for the door, leaving her astonished by how fast he could leave a room when he wanted to. It was almost like he had done it in a flash.

“I’m sorry Akira snapped at you. You’ll have to excuse him, Kato-chan,” said Ann, turning around in her seat in front of Akira’s to make eye contact with her. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately so he’s not himself,” she said. “Once... uh, once he works out his problems, I’m sure he’ll be back to his usual, _quiet_ self.”

“Oh,” Yumika replied, smiling softly, lightly waving off the apology. “It’s not a problem, Takamaki-san,” she said, biting the inside of her bottom lip slightly. She quickly looked over her shoulder, seeing at the last second which direction Akira had gone after hurrying from the room. She resolved to follow him as she turned back to Ann. “Thank you for the information, though.”

“Sure.” Ann smiled and stood up, heading for the door. She waved to Yumika over her shoulder, who followed her out of the room a moment later. “It’s no problem. Just thought you deserved to know why he snapped at you,” she said and left it at that.

* * *

**11/4**  
**Friday**  
**Lunchtime**

Yumika followed about a meter behind Akira.

Ryuji was hanging out near the staircase leading up to the third floor. He seemed to be off in his own world, but when he noticed Akira walking by, he brightened up and pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against, directly under the large number two painted on the wall. He stood up straight — or, as much so as was typical for him, at least (After all, Ryuji had awful posture — and it was probably not unrelated to Kamoshida) — but did little else to move. It was was strange he didn’t move from his spot, but it could easily be played off has his leg bothering him, especially because he also wasn’t quiet or shy about flagging down his boyfriend.

“Akira!” Ryuji called. “Over’re! I wanna talk to you!”

About a meter and a half away from the stairwell was a trash can sitting directly beneath a window. Thankfully, the trash was emptied regularly, which prevented the bin from developing a stench. It made it the perfect spot to stand, out out of the way, hidden in plain sight. She pulled a manga out of her bag that she’d read a dozen times, flipping to her favorite page, and began pretending to read.

As head of the school newspaper committee (because she was the only one who ran it), Yumika was fantastic at pretending to be reading or doing literally anything else when she was actually eavesdropping. Although it was usually to collect information for a school news article, this time it was purely out of concern. She had no intention of sharing what information she discovered with anyone — and had no idea what she would even do with any information once she discovered it, as a matter of fact. 

This just felt like something she needed to do.

Yumika was legitimately _only_ listening as someone who was concerned; as someone who desired to uncover some kind of truth, because what Akira told her about everything being fine and what Ann told her about Akira being under a lot of stress did not add up... Not _unless_ Akira’s snappiness was added into the equation. Only then did it make sense and she needed to find out what was going on.

“Ryu!” Akira grinned brightly, stopping in his tracks and doubling back to approach Ryuji. He seemed hesitant, though that may have been the result of nerves caused by several weeks of barely being around the person who was now suddenly flagging him down. All the same, he seemed to be leaning into Ryuji despite their distance, as if Akira were leaning into his aura. “You seem happy. I’m glad for that. Did something happen?”

“Not particularly. I just got off the phone with my mom,” Ryuji said. There was a moment of silence between them, one where neither of them seemed to know what to say. Almost awkwardly, he said, “She sang part of _You Are My Sunshine_ to me real quick before we got off the phone.”

Akira smiled softly, stealing some of the distance between them. “I know that one is your favorite.”

“Yeah... It is,” he said. “She hasn’t had a chance to sing it in a while, so it was nice.”

There was another moment of silence between them, this one much longer than before. Neither of them had made eye contact with the other, though that wasn’t from lack of trying on Akira’s part. Ryuji seemed to refuse to look at his boyfriend, who was almost chasing his eyes. Just when he seemed _about to catch_ his line of vision, it was pulled from him, leaving him frowning just before trying again to look him in the eye.

That went on for a solid minute.

Akira quit trying to make eye contact. Instead, his eyes fell to the ground and his chin tilted down with them. He shoved his hands into his pockets and swayed slightly from one foot to the next.

“Can I ask you something?”

“If ya want.”

“What happened?” he asked, biting his bottom lip.

“What happened when with what?”

“Y-Yesterday...” Akira’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly and he bit his lip a little bit more firmly between an upper and a lower canine. His swaying became a bit more intense, but his hands remained in his pocket and his features remained calm, almost expressionless. “Or, um... In the last two weeks, too, I guess. I...”

“I _don’t know_ what happened yesterday,” Ryuji countered. “Why dontcha ask _you know who_ , considering he seems to know so goddamn much?” He paused for a moment, seemed to consider what he was saying and how he was saying it, and then more gently added, “I did want to apologize, though. For yesterday. For the last two weeks. I shouldn’t’ve snapped at ya, seein’ as how you were just doin’ yer job. I... That... Well, I’m sorry. Sorry for avoidin’ ya, too.”

“Why were you avoiding me?”

“I just was. Don’t worry about it, all right? I apologized, didn’t I?”

Akira sighed, biting his bottom lip harder. It hurt because it was making him wince. In truth, it was genuinely surprising he hadn’t started bleeding yet. “Has your Persona come back?”

“No,” Ryuji replied sharply. “My Persona hasn’t come back.”

“Are... I...” Akira trailed off. His eyes were darting all over the place, looking as though he were trying to memorize the layout of the floor. “A-Are you sure it’s completely impossible, what he was saying yesterday?”

“Seriously?!” Ryuji hissed. “You, too?!”

At his side, Ryuji’s hand tightened into a fist. He tightened and relaxed it a couple times, as if he were doing it as some kind of way to soothe himself out of the sudden irritation he felt. Except that every time he tightened his hand again, his knuckles got whiter; the skin of his fingers more taut. At one point, he seemed to forget to unfurl his hand again, instead digging his nails into his palm. His whole hand was shaking, working overtime with the effort it took to keep his muscles constricted like that.

If Akira noticed, he didn’t let on. Though, his attention was so extremely fixated on the floor, it wouldn’t be surprising if he didn’t notice. There was a lot that could go unseen when trying to stare a hole under one’s feet.

“I’m just _worried about you_ , Ryuji. There has to be _some kind of reason_ you lost your Persona, and he has the only... His theory... He just seems to...”

“His theory seems to _what_ , Akira?”

“I know he was probably trying to be unhelpful, but...” Akira paused and shook his head, then looked up to finally meet Ryuji’s sharp gaze, though it somehow wasn’t enough to cut him off. The words that followed were loaded up and ready, tumbling from Akira’s mouth before he could stop them. That much was obvious when he immediately clapped his right hand over his mouth as soon as he said, “His theory does _make some sense_ , Ryuji.”

The hallway suddenly fell silent.

Akira’s glasses were flung from his face, flying through the air for a short distance before hitting the ground, the glass of his lenses shattering on impact. The thick, plastic frames continued to skitter across the floor, coming to a halt less than ten centimeters away from Yumika’s feet.

The hand that was clapped over Akira’s mouth moved to the apple of his left cheek as he fell to his knees. A pained and strangled gasp escaped him, one that made him realize his chest felt like it was being crushed. Tears reflexively welling up, his breathing rapid and shallow, _laborious_ , because his chest was far too tight to do anything more productive.

Akira could hear a loud ringing in his ears.

The whispering of the students around him was louder.

_“Did you see that?! Please tell me you saw that!”_

_“I think so! Did he really just—?”_

_“You saw exactly what I did. Right? You saw it, too?”_

_“It was only a matter of time!”_

_“I can’t believe he did it at school of all places!”_

The scalding tears stinging the corners of Akira’s eyes began to fall. They burned as they slid down his right cheek, falling to the floor; they _seared_ when pooled against the side of his hand as they fell from his left eye.

_“Oh, my god, it happened! I knew it would happen and it actually did! Sakamoto-kun hit Kurusu-kun!”_

The students in the hallway around him exploded into a roar of fierce gossip. The time between Akira falling to his knees and the the uproar of gossip had to have been mere seconds, but it also felt as though everything was in slow motion; it felt like the whole world was slowly coming to a stop. He still couldn’t breathe; he still felt as though his face were being scalded by his tears. He still couldn’t even _think_ to register what had just happened.

Besides tears burning his skin and the weight of _something_ threatening to cave in his chest, Akira felt nothing. Could process nothing.

Then he looked up at Ryuji...

...and all he saw was a warp of anger and fear and _pain_.

Ryuji was angry but he wasn’t angry at Akira. He wasn’t even _looking_ at him. He was frantically looking everywhere but, as if he were trying to find an escape. He was muttering something under his breath in a voice that wasn’t entirely his own and one that wasn’t angry, but _terrified_ — _“I told you to stay away from me! I tried to warn you!”_

Ryuji finally bolted.

For some reason, Akira turned his head to follow him with his eyes, curious to see where he was going. 

He watched as he stumbled through the crowd of people all whispering about him, about how they all _knew_ he’d be an abusive boyfriend; watched him as he slammed right into Yumika, who was standing near the window about a meter away, presumably having been reading the manga she just dropped. 

Akira watched as Ryuji lingered there, but said nothing to Yumika. They shared a look. A strange look. A look that... a look that he couldn’t process right now, but he knew well enough to know was strange.

The last thing Akira saw Ryuji do was run from Yumika; run from the sea of people and the gossip. Just before he was completely out of his line of vision, he watched as he grabbed his head and screamed into the void like he was in pain.

Akira’s pain was suddenly searing, unbearable, knocking the wind out of him as he doubled over and pressed his other hand to his face. He cried out; cried out in pain and distressed, in fear and confusion, and even in embarrassment. Even for someone as stone-faced and stoic as he usually was, Akira couldn’t handle all these emotions at once. The only thing he could even _remotely_ think to do to deal with how he felt was _cry_.

He had no idea what happened after that, had no idea how long he was on his knees, sobbing — maybe it was a couple seconds or maybe it was for the whole lunch hour — but he suddenly became aware that Morgana was approaching him and was no longer in his bag. 

When had he gotten out? _How_ had he gotten out?

How much of the conversation with Ryuji had he heard? What had he seen? Did Morgana know Ryuji had... had _hurt_ him, and that was why he was on his knees, sobbing through a complex array of emotions even he couldn’t seem to handle?

Was Morgana the reason he could hear Makoto’s voice, demanding that everyone _immediately_ clear the area? Was he the reason he could see Haru’s legs, and then her face? Was he the reason Haru was wrapping her arms around him, helping him up off the ground?

Did Morgana tell Makoto and Haru what was going on?

“It’s okay. It’ll be all right, Akira-kun. I have you,” Haru said, gently shushing him, brushing matted hair out of his face. Not to look at him, he noticed, but rather so he could see where he was going as she guided him. She was so much shorter than him, but so strong. She held every last bit of Akira’s weight, guiding him where she needed them go. “You’re going to be all right. Let’s get you to the nurse.”

Akira couldn’t seem to make himself stop crying.


	3. Candidate Found

**11/4  
Friday  
Evening**

Akira was late.

For someone who abided by as strict of a schedule for his own time as Akira did, the fact he wasn’t coming through the doors of Café Leblanc at as close to seven o’clock sharp as possible was, as it stood, already concerning.

When Akira also didn’t show up at seven-thirty or eight o’clock, either, Sojiro found himself experiencing a mixture of concern for his well-being, but also anger that he wasn’t back and hadn’t even tried to contact him to say he’d be late. Never mind the fact his restaurant was supposed to have been fully closed at this point, he was also supposed to be _heading home_ knowing full well that Akira was safe, even if he did go back out for the evening like he normally did.

At five minutes past eight, Sojiro decidedly called Futaba.

Futaba had fallen asleep at her keyboard just before dawn, having all but collapsed there because she ran out of steam. At the sound of her phone ringing, she stirred awake and rubbed the blurriness from her eyes before reaching for her glasses to actually fix it. 

Just as she was picking up her phone to answer what was apparently a call from Sojiro, she noticed she also had a few unread chat messages from part of the team.

What was that about?

“Hey. What’s crackin’?” Futaba asked as means of answering the phone. Moving the phone away from her face to put it on speaker phone, she noticed the time. Six minutes past eight. “Wait, where are you?”

“I’m still at the café because Akira hasn’t returned,” Sojiro replied, the irritation in his tone coming through loud and clear. She’d heard anger in his tone before, but it was still jarring, especially sense it was directed at her brother, someone he hadn’t been even kind of mad at in six months. Firm with, but not mad. “I haven’t been able to properly close up. Do you happen to know where he is?”

_Huh. Akira wasn’t in that group chat, either._

“Hold on, Sojiro.”

Switching from the screen indicating she was on a call to her chat app, she pulled up the conversation that included Haru, Yusuke, Ann, Makoto, and herself. She skimmed through it, quickly spotting the important messages where Makoto and Haru explained _Ryuji had punched Akira at school_ , and what they had done to help him.

Her face completely blanched, a strange and uncomfortable queasiness forming in the pit of her stomach.

[Futaba][20:08] Shit.

[Futaba][20:08] Sorry. I was asleep.

[Futaba][20:08] Thanks for the update.

There wasn’t much of a point in contributing more than just acknowledgement she had seen the messages. The conversation was almost eight hours old, after all. Not to mention, Yusuke had done a remarkable job of asking all the right questions, so even if she could have thought of a question or remark, it had already been answered.

It made her feel strangely proud.

Interestingly enough, Ann hadn’t contributed at all.

This, the situation presented to her in this conversation, was _extremely bad_.

“Uh...” Trailing off, she cleared her throat heavily. This was far from her story to tell, so the last thing she wanted to do was lead Sojiro into finding out she knew something was amiss. “N-no, I don’t know where he is. I haven’t talked to him,” she said. “I can track his phone, though. I’ll come over and we’ll find out where he is, all right?”

“Thank you, Futaba.”

“You got it.”

Sojiro sighed as he ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket. Finally taking off his apron for the night, he hung it on a nail in the wall then ventured out from behind the counter, sitting down at one on the tables.

_Where is he?_

A barrage of thoughts went through his mind. Some of them were worse than others.

When he stole a glance at the television that was still tuned into the news, he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know what the reporter was talking about, but it wasn’t about the death of a teenager or the leader of the Phantom Thieves, so it didn’t matter.

Perhaps it was a little bit... _overboard_ , for him to fear that Akira was dead somewhere, but it was hard not to. After all, he had gone from _not_ worrying about _one child_ being in danger caused by the outside world to _constantly_ worrying about _two children_ being in danger he couldn’t even _fathom_ in the span of only a few months. 

It was a lot to handle.

Futaba showed up before Sojiro’s worrying could get too out of control. Not that thinking Akira dead somewhere wasn’t already in the realm of _out of control_ , but there were a lot more insane scenarios he could conjure up. For example, he was already heading down the thought process that he’d gotten himself wrapped up in the _yakuza_ somehow, so he welcomed the interruption.

Was this level of stress and concern _typical_ for a parent, or was this anxiety exclusive for him, being the guardian of two Phantom Thieves?

“I know where he is,” Futaba said as she came into the café, sitting down at the table across from Sojiro.

“Where?”

“Aoyama-Itchome Station.”

“Oh.” Sojiro held back on his relief, lest there was more to it than that. However, he did venture to ask, “He’s heading back, then?”

“I... I don’t know,” Futaba said, putting her phone down on the table between her and Sojiro. She pointed to a little, red dot on a map that included Aoyama-Itchome, Shibuya, and Yongen-Jaya and said, “That’s him. Or... Well, it’s his phone, at least. According to this, provided he’s _with_ his phone, he’s been sitting at the station for almost four hours. I tried to tap into his camera, but all I can see is darkness, so I think he has it in his pocket.”

“Have you tried to call or message him?”

“Have _you_?”

Sojiro frowned disapprovingly, but there was nothing in what he said except exhaustion. “Futaba...” He scrubbed a hand over his face. Of course he hadn’t called him. Akira was supposed to be back an hour ago and up until when he let himself sit down, he’d been doing what he needed to do to close up the shop; had been doing what _Akira usually did_ to close up the shop. “Please just answer the question.”

“Right, right. Sorry.” She sighed softly, switching from the tracking details to her recent call history for just a moment. “Yes, I’ve tried to call him a couple of times. Five times, actually. He didn’t answer, so I... I think he has his phone on silent.”

“If he has it with him at all...”

Futaba sighed again and nodded. Unfortunately, she had no way of tapping into his phone to hear his surroundings; to hear what he could hear, otherwise she would. All she knew for sure was that _at least his phone_ was at Aoyama-Itchome Station, that’s where it had been for almost for hours...

...and that apparently Ryuji had punched him.

Now that she thought about it, that was all probably related.

“I can’t say for sure how I know, but I think he’s all right,” she said. It wasn’t her place to bring up Ryuji punching her brother to Sojiro. If Akira wanted to tell his story, that was up to him. She wasn’t going to put him on the spot like that, knowing full well he was probably dealing with a lot. In fact, he was most likely still at Aoyama-Itchome Station for that reason. “I just... I have a hunch that he’s safe... and that he’s going to figure out how late it is very soon. I bet that dot starts moving any time now.”

Sojiro sighed and crossed his arms, leaning against the table. He went about staring at the little red dot, hoping Futaba was right; hoping that he really did have his phone with him and he would soon realize what time it was, get his ass up, and come home.

“I hate what you kids put me through.”

“We love you, too, Sojiro.”

At a quarter to nine, the little red dot on Futaba’s tracker app began to move — and when it became obvious where the dot was moving to, both Sojiro and Futaba breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

Akira was a mess.

Never mind the fact the bottom of his left eye was black and blue and he had a formidable sized bruised on the apple of his cheek, the left side of his bottom lip was also decently swollen from where he’d been biting it when Ryuji—

For nighttime in November, Akira was burning up. Even at the train station, he felt like he could strip to nothing and still be hot. Perhaps it was from all the crying he had done while sitting there...

At this point, he was no longer wearing his uniform jacket, having shoved it unceremoniously into his bag when he stripped it off. (It left little room for Morgana, but he made it work for Akira’s sake.) He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his suspenders pulled off his shoulders and resting at his legs, and even his calves were exposed because he had rolled up his pants.

Somehow, he was still hot.

The absolute mess that was his face was on full display — and he couldn’t even try to conceal it behind his glasses because he didn’t have them anymore. They had been smashed on the floor, probably long sense swept up and thrown away at this point. 

Not that he would want to put on his glasses, even if he had them; the thought of resting something on his bruised and swollen cheek sounded utterly agonizing.

Though, not as agonizing as walking into Leblanc.

Shame bubbled up from deep within Akira again, making him feel sick. He thought he was over this when he got up and left the train station, but now that he had to go in and face Sojiro (and probably also Futaba), it resurfaced. Even if he didn’t have to explain to them what happened, he still felt gross; he still felt this was _his fault_ and if he had just kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t have upset Ryuji, and he wouldn’t have felt the need to—

A quiet, choked whimper left Akira’s pressed lips. The only indication he was about to cry; the only indication he didn’t want to step foot into Leblanc. Not only did he feel shame for what had happened with Ryuji, he feared Sojiro being pissed that he was late, only adding to his shame and the reasons he wanted to cry.

It was _so_ hot.

“Akira...” Morgana said gently, poking his head out of his bag. He watched as his hand hovered over the handle of the door, showing his hesitation to open it. It almost looked like his hand was shaking, but he couldn’t get close enough to tell for sure. It probably was, though. If anyone knew what he was going through, it was him. He had been there for _all of it_ — from what happened at school to the entire four hours at Aoyama-Itchome Station. He absolutely understood what Akira was dealing with; understood the emotional roller coaster, but... “You need to go in at some point.”

“...Sojiro is going to be so pissed I’m late.”

Still, Akira sniffed quite loudly and used the back of his arm to dry up his tears — being more gentle with his left eye than his right, of course. Once he was positive he didn’t look like he had been crying, he sighed and opened the door, the little bell above his head jingling to indicate his return.

“Akira! Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick about you, and—!” Before he was even facing Akira, Sojiro knew it was him who had come through the door. He could tell from the red dot on Futaba’s phone and the jingling of the bell on his door. Flustered, he had all but flown out of the seat, almost immediately going off on the tangent he had played through in his head several times. 

However, when he was finally, actually facing Akira, and was able to get a good look at his face, Sojiro cut off. Instead of his rant, he closed the distance between them and took his face in his hand, looking him over. “What happened to you? Akira, did you get into a fight? I— Who punched you? Are you all right? I— no, I mean... Clearly you’re not. Is anything broken? Can you see out of this eye?”

Akira had just barely managed to make himself look like he hadn’t been crying before coming into the café. That didn’t mean he didn’t still want to, though. He had been crying on and off since the pain set in back in the hallway, the tears coming in waves ever since.

The tears were threatening to come again.

Sojiro suddenly being the protective and concerned guardian wasn’t helping.

What was worse was that Futaba was now standing beside Sojiro, looking just as shocked and concerned and upset as he did. Her expression was made from something different, though, but he was far too removed from himself to figure out what it was. Just as he still hadn’t figured out what that look between Yumika and Ryuji was.

“I— I’m all right,” Akira managed. His voice was barely above a whisper, but at least he was keeping himself from crying. “I... I-It... I had a d-disagreement with someone and I...” He swallowed past the heavy lump in his throat, the shame he felt setting him ablaze once more. (As if it had ever actually stopped.) If the Earth could open up and consume him, he would welcome it. Perhaps then the fires of Hell could cleanse him of how disgusting and shameful he felt for provoking Ryuji like he had. “I just... I sh-should’ve— I should have kept my m-mouth shut,” he finished, so quietly it was barely even words.

It wasn’t terrible, but Akira’s words were a little bit slurred because of his lip, from trying to avoid touching it with his upper lip and even his teeth.

Sojiro pulled his hand away. “I’ll get you some ice. It’ll help with the swelling,” he said and disappeared into the kitchen alcove before Akira could argue.

Akira watched as Sojiro disappeared to get him some ice. He was trying so hard to push back the desire to cry again, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his chest vibrating with his effort. He was biting down on the right side of his lip, holding back all of the sounds he wanted to make; sobbing, whimpering, even stuttered breathing. He was holding it all back...

...and he was doing a damn good job of it until he suddenly felt Futaba wrap her arms around him and rest her head on his chest. It froze him where he stood. He didn’t return it and he didn’t react, save for a few tears that ran down his cheeks, burning his bruised skin. 

He just stood there, letting his sister hug him — and for the longest time, she held him and said nothing. At some point, she even began rubbing the middle of his back to try and nonverbally comfort him. Anything to help him realize and understand he wasn’t alone and he was valid in feeling the emotions he felt, no matter what they were.

“It’s all right,” Futaba eventually whispered, noticing Sojiro returning out of the corner of her eye, so she quickly said what she needed to. “I-I know what happened and... and it isn’t your fault, Akira.” She pulled away, making room for Sojiro to tend to her brother injuries, but she didn’t leave his side. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said so only he could hear.

Akira didn’t argue, but Futaba was wrong. She didn’t know all of what happened; she didn’t know all the details. If she did, she would _know_ it was his fault because he had provoked Ryuji.

Part of him wondered how Futaba had found out, but... In truth, he didn’t care how she knew. It didn’t change it being his fault.

Fuck, he was so tired.

“Do you think you can eat?” Sojiro asked.

“No,” Akira whispered, holding the icepack to his eye as and cheek as he’d been instructed. (It felt nice. It helped him feel less like his whole body was on fire — and it temporarily gave him something different to focus on that wasn’t all his emotional pain.) “I... I tried eating something after school. My lips got in the way... so I just— I ended up giving it to Morgana.” Unfortunately, there wasn’t much that could be done for his lip except time.

At the mention of his name, Morgana stuck his head out of Akira’s bag and looked around, making eye contact with Futaba. They watched each other for a moment, until Futaba nodded and looked away.

Akira barely noticed.

“I understand,” Sojiro said. “Are you hungry, though?”

Akira nodded.

“All right,” Sojiro said, clearing his throat. “Go upstairs and get what you need for bed tonight and school tomorrow. You’re staying at my house tonight,” he said. Unfortunately, with Akira’s probation terms, it was _exceedingly, stupidly difficult_ to keep him home from school. However, what he could do was keep him at his house tonight, to keep an eye on him. “Futaba will walk you over. I’m going to head back now to make you something you can eat, all right?”

 _Again_ with Sojiro being the protective guardian...

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Sojiro echoed. Patting Akira’s shoulder lightly as he walked by him, he sighed through his nose and nodded. “You’re going to be all right. Don’t worry about telling me what happened, unless you want to. I trust you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Akira choked on his attempt to hold back a sob, sucking in a breath through his nose. He bit the inside of his bottom lip, watching as Sojiro left the café after saying something to Futaba that he couldn’t understand.

_I did—_

“—not do anything wrong,” Futaba said, her voice somehow managing to overpower the combination of static in his mind and ringing in his ears. “Even Sojiro believes it. You. Did. Nothing. Wrong,” she reiterated, gently taking Akira’s hand. “Let’s go get your stuff.”

_Yes, I did._

Akira let Futaba lead him to his room.

* * *

“Jeez. I was starting to wonder if he would ever fall asleep.” 

Morgana jumped on the edge of Futaba’s desk and sat down. He turned to Akira, watching him sleep, if only to ensure he actually was asleep. Despite Futaba’s futon being short, which meant he was sleeping on his side facing the wall with his legs bent to his chest, he seemed peaceful. More peaceful than he had been in the last couple of weeks.

“Thanks for having Boss bring him something to help him sleep,” Morgana added, turning back to Futaba. “He needed it after today.”

Futaba drew in a breath the her nose, sighed, and nodded. “I think he’s going to appreciate the fact he got to sleep after tomorrow, too,” she murmured, her attention fixated on her computer screens. She was furiously typing like always, but she was being quieter about it, keeping the overall clacking for a minimum. “I don’t have very good news.”

“Is it about Ryuji?”

“...Of course it is...” Futaba murmured. Sighing again, she turned her attention from the computer, to instead watch her brother sleep. She rubbed her eyes, which pushed up her glasses temporarily. When her glasses fell back on her nose, and her vision adjusted, she spoke again. “I wish it could be — I wish it _was_ — about someone else, but...”

“—So it’s bad.”

It was meant to be a question, but it came out as a comment instead. Morgana didn’t need Futaba to confirm that the news she had was bad. He could tell by the way she was looking at Akira, that it was bad. He could tell by the way she seemed overwhelmingly exhausted, that it was bad. There were a lot of ways it could be bad, and Morgana felt he could come up with a couple... 

...but perhaps it would be better to hear what Futaba had to say rather than guess.

“Yeah...” Futaba sighed, pulling Morgana into her lap. She went about petting him, which he let her do, curling up on her legs. Both of them watched Akira sleep, still peaceful. It felt strange, given the sudden tension. “It’s bad.”

* * *

**11/5  
Saturday  
Morning**

_“Did you hear we have a new student? A friend of mine saw him this morning. She says he’s pretty cute. I wonder if he’s got a criminal record like Kurusu-kun, though?”_

Akira had woken up feeling numb.

The last thing he remembered before arriving at school was Futaba helping him get dressed. She had to. If it weren’t for her helping him get ready, Akira wouldn’t have even made it to school at all.

All of a sudden, he found himself sitting in class. 

Right temple pressed to his right fist, he was staring out the window, fixating on a little, yellow bird. It was jumping back and forth on the windowsill and it appeared to have a worm in its beak.

It was winter. Where did it get a worm?

Was it going to give the worm to a baby bird? Where was it?

Akira turned his head and rested his left temple on his left fist instead. No longer staring out the window, at the bird, he traded that fixation for one on the diamond window in the classroom door.

Why a diamond? It could be a square. Or a circle. What was the reason for a diamond?

Akira blinked slowly. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Thrice.

On the third blink, he closed his eyes and forgot to open them. Not because he fell asleep, but because his eyelids felt extremely heavy.

What about that bird?

Opening his eyes again, Akira went to turn his head again, but he found himself being stared at — not just by Ann, who was turned around in her seat, but by everyone in the room, if a quick glance around meant anything.

Had he missed something?

“Kurusu-kun.” Akira blinked, becoming aware of Mr. Inui’s voice breaking through his slow-moving thoughts. It was so loud and booming compared to the way his own thoughts were muted and slowed. “Do you know the answer?”

The answer?

How did Akira get here? When had he gotten to class? Had he walked here or did he take the train? He didn’t remember taking the train, but...

Wait.

No.

...what was he supposed to know the and answer to?

Sitting up slowly and dropping his hands in his lap, he took a look around the room again, half-absorbing the fact he was being stared at by the whole class. 

The. Whole. Entire. Class. 

He was, somehow, also aware of the strange fact he was staring expectantly at _himself_.

What was he supposed to be doing?

“I-I don’t...” he said slowly, quietly. “I-I’m n-not...”

Or did his words just _sound_ slow and quiet in his head? Was he actually yelling? He had no idea if he was being loud or whispering or if he was even talking at all. He could’ve been saying nothing at all, for all he knew. Was he talking at all?

Akira looked to Ann, swallowing against the hard and heavy pounding in his chest, making his head feel... stranger than he already did. “I... Wh-What was the question?” he asked her, finally piecing together that he was supposed to be answering something.

To his confusion, Ann rolled her eyes and turned away from Akira, looking to the front of the room. Had she just blown him off? Had he done something to upset her? What could he have done? He didn’t even remember getting here. If he didn’t even remember getting here, how was he supposed to remember if he did something to—?

...

Oh.

There was a piece of paper folded in front of him.

**The word ‘whack’ was also used in a coded language from history. What was that language?**

...

Simple.

The answer was: Thieves’ Cant.

Akira looked up at Mr. Inui, who was still watching him. He seemed strangely patient with him as he waited for him to answer. Was he usually this patient? Or was it just being patient because—

_Ryuji had punched him._

“Thieves’ Cant.”

Wait. 

No.

Fuck.

Who had said that? Did someone answer the question for him? _He_ was supposed to be the one who was answering Mr. Inui’s question. Who had taken his answer? Had he said his answer aloud without realizing, but not loud enough for the teacher to hear? Who was around that could’ve heard him say that answer and taken it from him?

Honestly? What was **_whack_** was how far removed Akira felt from himself. What was **_whack_** was that his head and his body felt like two separate entities, neither aware of the other. What was **_whack_** was that he was here today, when he couldn’t even think properly because—

_Ryuji had punched him._

Closing his eyes as his heart raced, Akira pressed the heels of both his palms to his forehead. Taking a few slow, deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, he closed his eyes and just sat there.

“Correct. Nice job!” Mr. Inui exclaimed, spreading his arms wide like he was going to give someone a hug. He went back to crossing them a moment later. “You’re quite diligent in your studies, Kurusu-kun.”

_“Wow. He’s really smart.”_

_“I know, right?! I feel bad for him, though. I heard his boyfriend punched him yesterday. It’s pretty brave of him to come to school after going through something that. Maybe he isn’t much of a criminal, after all.”_

Had Ann just scoffed?

Wait.

Punched by his boyfriend? Akira had been punched by his boyfriend yesterday? Was that the reason his face hurt all of a sudden? Or had it _always_ hurt and he had forgotten until now? 

_Ryuji had punched him._

Oh.

That was right, wasn’t it?

Ryuji had punched Akira because he had provoked him by asking a stupid, selfish question. He should have known it was stupid and selfish and not asked it. If he had just kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t have upset his boyfriend and he wouldn’t have needed to—

...

_...needed to._

That thought made Akira want to puke.

Akira loved Ryuji.

That was why every part of his person — mind, soul, and even body — hurt so much as he wrestled with this; as he fought with himself between knowing it was his fault that Ryuji hit him and—

...Ryuji loved Akira, too... right?

_Ryuji had punched Akira._

Yes, he had… but... it was a fluke... wasn’t it? He hadn’t... meant to do it, had he?

_Fuck!_

This was bullshit. 

If he was going to be numb and forget something as simple as how he got to school, then let him be numb and forget all his memories! Was he numb or was he not?!

_Both._

No! That wasn’t fair!

It wasn’t fair that he was being forced to remember being the world’s biggest idiot and provoking for boyfriend — but simple things like _how he got to school_ went by the wayside. It wasn’t fair that he had to remember how disgusting and vile he felt for upsetting someone he loved by asking a dumb question — but he could forget where he was and become enraptured by a bird.

...and what of Ryuji’s Persona?!

Akira felt as though his heart was going to burst from his chest, but if it killed him, would he even know? Who would even care? Would he care? Who was he even arguing with? Was he arguing with himself or another person?

_Damn it._

He shouldn’t have even looked at Mr. Inui. He should have kept watching the bird; he should have continued wondering why the door had a diamond window.

He should have—

This was because he had looked at Ann. This was because she had acknowledged him. It had to be. If he hadn’t looked at her, he could have been... He could’ve continued in peace with his birdwatching. It was _her_ who had pulled him out of his trance; it was _her_ who had made him _aware_ of the fact he was feeling nothing, but now he had the _memories_ to recall _why_ he felt nothing.

_Ryuji had punched—_

“No!”

No one looked at him.

Apparently he hadn’t said that very loudly. 

Had he said it at all?

As soon as the bell rang for lunchtime, Akira got up and left the room before anyone could stop him or come up to talk to him. He had to get out of this room. All of a sudden, he felt suffocated and enclosed — and he had to get out of here.

Maybe if he got out of this classroom, he could put an end to the voice he was bickering with in his head. Maybe if he got out of this classroom, he could somehow go crawling back to the blissful numbness and emptiness he’d felt when he woke up.

It was a miracle he remembered to grab his bag.

_What was that about a new student?_

* * *

**11/5  
Saturday  
Lunchtime**

Akira found himself a secluded-enough corner to hide in. 

The spot he tucked himself into was far enough away from most of the student body that he wouldn’t be disturbed — or so he hoped; someone would need to go out of their way to disturb him — but close enough that he could hear and see what was going on if need be.

Maybe if he just ate lunch, he would be able to think a little bit clearer. _Some_ of his fogginess had to be due to the fact he was hungry, didn’t it?

[Sojiro][12:07] How are things going?

[Sojiro][12:07] Do you have your lunch?

They were simple, but the texts _did help_ to calm his heart rate and clear some of the fog in his head...

Being in class really had caused him to spiral.

...he should just focus on his lunch.

Before leaving for school, Sojiro had stopped Akira to shove two items in his hand: a six ounce drink of some kind and a metal bento box. (It wasn’t ornate nor did it have any kind of characters on it, but that was all right. It was just lunch and the thought counted more than what the box looked like.) At that time, he hadn’t been able to say much more than his _thanks_ , but now that he was at school, he was... rather eager to see what he had.

For at least _right now_ he felt... well, _relatively_ normal.

The drink was strawberry soy milk.

Although he’d never had strawberry soy milk, he did like soy milk and he loved strawberry-flavored drinks (and, in truth, strawberry-flavored anything). The chances of him not liking this were rather slim.

Come to think of it, how had he never had strawberry-flavored soy milk?

The bento box had clearly been crafted with the fact Akira had a fat lip in mind. There was plenty of rice, a variety of cut up vegetables (carrots, bean sprouts, and edamame that were all blanched and served without heavy seasoning to avoid irritating his lip), and a few, small omelette rolls (also without heavy seasoning).

Akira sniffled quietly, using the side of his right hand to gently wipe away a few tears threatening to fall from both eyes. Not only had he done _more than enough_ crying at school for one lifetime, he didn’t feel like dealing with the burning that came with tears irritating his bruised skin.

[Akira][12:15] Things are going all right, I guess.

[Sojiro][12:18] Keep your chin up. Only a few more hours.

[Akira][12:18] I know. I’m trying.

[Akira][12:18] Thank you for the lunch.

[Sojiro][12:19] You’re welcome, Kid.

Not that he would ever say it, but Akira found himself liking it more when Sojiro called him _Kid_ rather than his actual name. It felt like a special nickname, somehow, even if most of the adults he had close bonds with called him that. It just... hit differently when it came from Sojiro. Kind of like when Ryuji’s mother called her son ‘Ryu-chan.’

It was nice.

...and so was his lunch.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to enjoy it in peace for as long as he might have liked to.

_“Look! Look! That’s him! That’s him right there! That’s the new student! Isn’t he just so cute?! Do you think he’s single? What do you think he’d say if I asked him out?”_

_“Ask him! You should definitely ask him! You’ll never know unless you ask him!”_

Oh.

Oh, yeah.

That was right, wasn’t it?

Akira did seem to recall some kind of gossip about a new student while he was in class. _“I wonder if he’s got a criminal record like Kurusu-kun,”_ they had said.

 _I wonder_ indeed.

Eating the last few vegetables in his bento box, Akira closed and returned it to his bag. Crushing the box his drink had been in and holding it in his fist, he looked up and out into the hallway. Looking from left to right, he tried to determine not only where the gossiping students were, but also where this supposed new student was, all in relation to where he was sitting.

He could hear the girls, but not see them. He couldn’t hear nor see this new student.

His heart couldn’t take it if someone surprised him.

“Do you think we should investigate it?” Morgana asked, as if the new student were some kind of target. As if they had to collect intel on this person to go after them in Mementos or something. They didn’t even know who this person was. What was there to investigate? “It’ll give you something else to focus on, at least for now. You seem to be feeling a little bit better now that you’ve had lunch. Try coasting on it for a little bit and focus on something else.”

Well...

Maybe Morgana had a point.

It would certainly be a much better use of his time than being in pain or agonizing over whether or not Ryuji still loved him or remembering—

“All right.” 

Akira sighed, blinking a little too slow, for a little too long. 

He almost didn’t open his eyes again.

Akira was exhausted. In every conceivable definition of the term. He wanted so desperately to crawl into bed and sleep for _at least_ the rest of his life. Even longer, if that were, in some way, possible.

“We can go investigate.”

* * *

“Sojiro, we need to pick up Akira after school.”

Standing behind the counter, working on a crossword puzzle from the daily newspaper, Sojiro looked up at Futaba who was leaning so far over the counter, she was almost laying on it. He would have told her to sit up if there were any customers around, but the store was empty.

“Why?”

“I really need to talk to him,” she said, lifting just her head to look at him. She watched him for a moment before laying her chin back down on the counter. It was too hard to hold it up in her current position. “It’s important Phantom Thieves stuff.”

“You can’t just wait for him to take the train back?”

“Come on, Sojiro. Really? You remember how well that went yesterday, don’t you?” she quipped. “Need I remind you that he didn’t come back until nine with the whole left side of his face bruised?” she said. “Not to mention, he sounded like he was going to cry.”

“Are you sure he’s...” Sojiro trailed off and sighed, putting his crossword down to card his fingers through his hair. “Are you sure he’s in any condition to be talking about Phantom Thief stuff?”

No, of course not.

“This is really important. It can’t wait.”

Sojiro eyed Futaba for a moment before he sighed and gave her a nod. He picked up his puzzle. “If it’s that important, I’ll close up early and we can go get him,” he said, penciling in an answer going down. “Text him so he knows.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

The school wasn’t a palace (anymore).

Just the same, Akira was pressed against the wall, around the corner from a group of gossiping students, acting as though they were a group of shadows and he was about to ambush them at any second.

Hell, he was even honed in on what they were saying using his Third Eye ability.

It was absolutely ridiculous...

...but at least he wasn’t thinking about his problems.

Morgana, bless his soul, was even playing into it a little bit, if only to keep Akira distracted. He knew these lifted spirits of his wouldn’t last forever — he would _eventually_ crash again — but the least he could do was encourage this for as long as possible.

“What do you hear?”

“Nothing interesting,” Akira replied with a sigh as he broke his concentration, looking down at Morgana who was in his bag at his feet. “They’re all just talking about hair and makeup and clothes. One guy started talking about his boyfriend at Kosei — and his friend responded by talking about _his_ boyfriend who goes _here_ like it’s some kind of contest.”

“Riveting.”

Akira sighed through puckered lips and nodded, going back to listening all the same. There was a reason he ignored all the gossip and rumors: It was all either extremely boring or about him.

At least this gossip wasn’t about him.

Ten minutes went by, the end of lunch growing ever near, and still nothing interesting was being said or happening. He had been positive this was the group who had been talking about the new student, but listening to them now, it seemed he was either wrong or they were going about their day like nothing had happened.

Suddenly, someone from down the hall he was standing in began squealing about _“Look, it’s him! It’s him! It’s the new transfer student!”_ and Akira’s attention shot in the other direction in just enough time to see at whom a female student with long, braided black hair was pointing.

“Come on. Let’s get closer.”

Akira picked up his bag and put it over his shoulder as he headed down the hallway toward the group of squealing students, hiding in plain sight amongst them. It was the best way to get a look without drawing attention to himself. His relationship was some of the biggest gossip in school, after all; he didn’t want to make it seem like he was ogling someone new just because Ryuji had—

The new student was kind of cute.

Upon first glance, nothing about him particularly stood out. He had short, brown-black hair; he had the same uniform everyone in school had, and it was being worn properly; he had...

...a bit of limp?

Wait.

Attention shooting back up to the boy’s face, Akira took a moment to examine him, really honing in on him because... something was off about this new student, and he needed to figure out what it was.

The new student had brown hair that naturally came to a faux-hawk point at the top of his head. That seemed normal. Nothing about that seemed out of place.

The fact his eyebrows were extremely over-plucked but it somehow worked for his face seemed extremely familiar, but normal. It wasn’t uncommon for people to over-pluck their eyebrows and still manage to make it work for them.

The fact his jawline was perfectly chiseled and he had a, dare he say it, terribly cute little button nose could be a feature for anyone, but there something about it that set off alarms of familiarity in Akira’s head. 

The way he had small, brown patches the same color as his hair splotched all over the back of his neck like his hair had been recently dyed...

...

The student wasn’t engaging anyone in conversation. For a student who was being ogled at by everyone he walked past, he seemed extremely uninterested in any of the attention. Not that he had to like the attention, or give it his time of day, but something about the way this student was carrying himself felt... strange. Unnatural. Fake, even. Like he was putting on a show of some kind that everyone else seemed to believe except Akira.

...

Limp. Familiar facial features and structure. Dyed hair.

...

A familiar, shrill voice broke through Akira’s thoughts just as he was piecing together what was going on. It had to have taken him less than forty-five seconds, but in that time, someone else had also figured out what was going on; had also figured out what made this new student strange.

That someone else, Akira realized, was Ann.

“Ryuji?! What— what are you doing?! What is this?!” she lamented, arms spread wide as she gestures at him. “What happened to you?!”

Ann calmed her voice as she approached Ryuji, the sea of gossiping students around them dispersing to whisper about the latest, breaking gossip — _the new student was_ **_actually_** _Ryuji Sakamoto_! From where Akira stood a mere meter away from Ann and Ryuji, he could hear a group of students try and guess why he had changed his appearance.

...kind of.

...he could _kind of_ hear them talking.

Akira’s heart was racing again, threatening to burst from his chest just as it had when he was in class. 

All of a sudden, the hallway felt too small. The walls were caving in; they were caving in and they were going to crush them all, but he couldn’t seem to find the words to warn them all of that. 

The only thing he could do was stand and watch, looking at Ann talking to Ryuji without hearing what they were saying. (Whatever it was, Ryuji was doing a lot of dismissive gesturing to drive home some kind of point.) He wished he could hear what they were saying, but the ringing in his ears was too loud — and even if his ears weren’t ringing, the static in his mind was all-encompassing, preventing him from absorbing information.

Akira took a step back, shaking, when Ann looked at him, piercing daggers through him with just a look. He only knew he was shaking because he had his hands on the strap of his bag and it was smacking his side.

Why was she so mad at him? First scoffing at him in class, now this? What had he done to make Ann so mad?

What had Ryuji said?

Morgana stuck his head out of the bag, looking up at Akira who looked not unlike a frightened deer stuck in headlights; like he was ready to have a panic attack at any second. His eyes were wide, made obvious because he didn’t have his usual thick, black frames to mask them; his chest was heaving, like he wasn’t able to catch his breath; and, he had a thin layer of sweat forming around the base of his neck. 

Not to mention the shaking.

Sticking a paw out of the bag, Morgana put it on the side of Akira’s chest gently and began to purr. It took only a second for his attention to snap to him.

“Let’s go,” Morgana said carefully, speaking around his purring. He was (insanely, morbidly) curious why Ann was glaring at Akira, of course, but his priority right now was to ensure the safety of his family. “Go to the bathroom so you can calm down, okay?”

Akira heeded Morgana and turned on his heels, running off to the bathroom without a second thought.

_Had Ryuji been glaring at him, too?_

_What had he done?_

_Why had Ryuji dyed his hair? Why was he properly wearing his uniform all of a sudden? Why was he suddenly doing it the literal day after punching him in the hallway?_

_Did this have something to do with Ryuji losing his persona?_

This was too much for Akira to think about; this was far too much for his fuzzy, staticky mind to consider. There were too many variables here and he couldn’t put them together. He couldn’t... he didn’t... he wasn’t...

Akira locked himself in one of the back stalls.

Putting down his bag, he sat down on the toilet and pulled his knees to his chest. After a moment of just holding his legs and staring at absolutely nothing on the ground, he hid his face against his legs, to muffle himself, and cried.

* * *

**11/5**  
**Saturday**  
**After School**

_[Futaba][12:51] Don’t go to the train station after school. Sojiro and I are coming to pick you up._

_[Futaba][12:56] ...There’s something important I need to talk to you about._

Akira never really regained his composure after leaving the bathroom at the end of lunch. Although he didn’t cry during the rest of his classes, he certainly wasn’t there mentally. He was there without being there, just as he had been during his morning classes. Lunchtime had been his only reprieve and it had been torn from him because...

Akira closed his eyes, pulled his legs to his chest, and wrapped his arms tightly around his knees. (He kept his bag looped around his elbow, to ensure no one could come up and try to take it. He didn’t need someone trying to steal his cat.) He rested his chin between his kneecaps as he sat on the stairs, waiting for Sojiro and Futaba to arrive.

Why did Futaba need to talk to him?

[Akira][16:39] I’m outside the school.

At some point, Akira fell asleep while waiting to be picked up. As cliché as it was, he only knew he had fallen asleep because he felt a hand on his shoulder gently shaking him out of the nothingness slumber he’d managed to slip into.

It had been kind of blissful.

Blearily, Akira looked up, seeing Sojiro standing in front of him. Dropping his head again, a dark blush crept up his neck and over his face, threatening to set him ablaze. It wasn’t like he had been caught doing something wrong, but he still felt embarrassed that he had fallen asleep on some steps outside school. He felt embarrassed for being this tired.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m tired.”

“It’s all right, Kid,” Sojiro replied. “Let’s just go home.”

Akira nodded, getting to his feet and following Sojiro to his car. He climbed into the back seat, buckling up behind the passenger seat where Futaba was. He saw her glance at him, and thought he saw stress in her eyes, but he didn’t have a chance to think about it — because his mind was running too slow and because as soon as the car began to move, he was lulled back to sleep.

...he slept until they made it to Sojiro’s house.

...and would have continued to sleep on Futaba’s futon, were it not for her immediately saying “I’m sorry, Akira. We need to talk. Right now.” the literal second he laid down and went to close his eyes.

It took Akira a moment to respond and even longer to react.

“What?”

Futaba watched as Akira slowly sat up, crossing his legs. He put his hands on his shins, looking at her expectantly through droopy eyelids, waiting for her to take the floor and say what she needed to say; to tell him what she needed to tell him.

There was no graceful way of doing this.

Akira looked so tired.

...and combined with the fact he had a yellow-purple bruise around his eye and on his cheek — and a swollen lip — he not only looked tired, but... broken, almost.

“I know what happened to Ryuji.”

“Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow. “What?”

Judging by Akira’s tone, Futaba could tell this was the first time in a significant period of time that he’d truly thought about what happened to Ryuji (but now that he was, he was prepared to listen, because he needed to know; because he clearly loved him). It made sense. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours dealing with demons no one should have to deal with. It made sense he’d been distracted.

Maybe the information she had would help.

...or maybe it would change nothing.

“I’ll— let me show you,” she said with a soft sigh, holding out her hand to Akira. Her hand was shaking slightly, but the rest of her, including her face, was neutral and calm — forced calm, but calm. “Let me see your phone.”

Akira frowned and pinched his eyebrows together, confused, but he still dug around in his pocket for a moment before giving Futaba his phone. 

He watched as she took a seat next to him and unlocked his phone. (He would have asked how she knew his passcode, but it wasn’t worth it. She was a hacker and his passcode was Ryuji’s birthday.) He watched as she flicked around the pages of his home screen, looking at his apps. He watched as she found the app she was looking for, her thumb hesitantly hovering for a moment. He watched as she finally opened the...

...

She was opening the Metaverse Navigator... to... show him what was going on with Ryuji? Was there something in Sae’s palace she needed to show him that would solve this issue, this riddle?

...

He listened as she spoke into the phone.

...

“Ryuji Sakamoto.”

...

The static in his mind was suddenly the loudest it had ever been. It was practically all he heard. He felt nothing (except a tightness in his chest and an overwhelming inability to breathe around the growing lump in his throat) as he heard the phone chime out a monotone, robotic response.

...

_“Candidate Found.”_


	4. Beginning Navigation

The room was spinning.

Akira closed his eyes and pressed his cupped palms to his face, but it ended up giving him vertigo, forcing him to open his eyes again and drop his hands. It made him feel exposed that he couldn’t cover his face, especially considering he still didn’t have his glasses. But unless he wanted to feel like he was being tossed around like he was on some thrill ride at Destinyland—

To be frank, he was trying so hard not to cry.

Futaba had never seen him cry before and he wasn’t about to let her see him cry now.

_Ryuji has a palace._

_Ryuji really did lose his will to rebel, didn’t he?_

Why did Ryuji have a palace? What could have distorted his desires so much for a palace to form? If he had a shadow in Mementos, then that would be one thing; that would be easy enough to take care of and would hardly be worth thinking about, but... he had developed... a whole palace?

Why?

This had to be a dream.

 _All of this_ had to be some kind of dream.

What kind of sick, twisted reality would see fit to impose a burden such as a palace on one of the sweetest people Akira had ever known?

_Ryuji had punched Akira._

Yes, but it was because he had developed a palace!

...Right?

There was no way it was the other way around, was there?

The Ryuji that Akira knew was a sweet and gentle person. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. (Granted, he would destroy a shadow by winding up and swinging a mace or by raining down electricity, but that was different.) The Ryuji that Akira knew wasn’t a violent person. He _had_ to have developed this palace for a reason that was similar to how Futaba’s had formed. There _had_ to be something weighing him down; there had to be something he was... _losing the fight against_.

The alternative...

Well, the alternative was that Ryuji had developed a palace from warped, twisted desires to hurt others — to hurt _him_ — and now that he had a palace, he no longer had the will to ‘restrain himself’ not to act on those desires.

That didn’t seem like him _at all_ and—

“Fuck.”

There was so much agony in that one, quiet word. Akira’s mind was still spinning, his breathing was ragged and labored around the lump in his throat, his head was full of a fog so thick that he couldn’t work past it, his mind was still staticky and numb, and his face was throbbing something fierce.

He didn’t know what to do.

Akira was in no mental position to be dealing with a palace right now—

Especially because knowing Ryuji had a palace did nothing at all about Akira’s inner turmoil. His boyfriend had a palace, but he still let himself be pushed away instead of insisting on helping him. His boyfriend had a palace, but he had still been stupid enough to ask a question he knew Ryuji didn’t want or need to hear. His boyfriend had a palace...

...but Akira was still to blame. This was still _his fault._

“Akira?”

Dropping his head into his hands, he whispered, “What?” It was the loudest he could bring his voice without breaking down into tears. “What do you want?”

“I was just going to say—”

“—What? You were just going to say _what_ , Futaba?” Akira suddenly snapped, attention shooting up to look at her. To _glare_ at her. There were tears streaming down his cheeks, and his bottom lip was trembling with the effort it took to not cry, but his eyes were full of burning rage. “I don’t want to hear your _bullshit_ about how this isn’t my fault!”

“That isn’t what I—”

“That isn’t what you were going to say, right? Right. Of course it wasn’t,” he hissed, putting his head in his hands once more, the pads of his fingers digging into his scalp. “No one ever wants to listen to me! I’m _always_ wrong! I’m just the idiot kid with a criminal record, right? Who wants to take a fucking _criminal_ seriously?!”

That wasn’t true, and he knew it, logically. He was the leader of the Phantom Thieves — but beyond that reason, everyone around him hung onto his every word. At least, everyone who knew him for who he was, as a Phantom Thief _and_ as a person. 

This was a lot to process.

A lot had happened to Akira in forty-eight hours and he was already reaching his breaking point.

Suddenly, Akira stopped ranting, as if something in his mind slammed on the brakes of his anger. Letting go of his scalp, he dropped his arms on his lap, doubled over on himself, and pressed his forehead to his knees. For a moment, he said and did nothing, but then he was shaking — and instead of his arms resting on his legs, he had them tightly wrapped around his body as if he were giving himself a hug; as if he were trying to soothe himself. He had even begun to rock himself back and forth, humming something quiet and incoherent.

The whiplash from anger to this... It looked all too much like he was about to have a nervous breakdown. It was like — no, it wasn’t _like_ anything; it was very obvious what was going on: He was mentally shutting down as a result of the intense amount of stress he was under.

Who could blame him? Who _would_ blame him? 

After all, the route to the treasure in Sae Niijima’s palace still wasn’t secured; Goro Akechi intended on betraying them and having Akira taken in to the police station just so he could kill him; the plan to protect Akira _from_ Akechi still wasn’t fully worked out; Ryuji had started pushing Akira away for seemingly no reason — and that same person, his boyfriend, lost his Persona, punched Akira in the hallway at school, and had a palace that they _had to_ and _would_ take down, no matter the cost.

It was **_a lot_ ** for one person to handle.

Akira desperately needed to sleep.

That said, the sweet release of death would be nice, should the universe see it fit to bestow upon him the mercy of such an escape from this living hell.

...

 _Of course not_.

...

Akira couldn’t stop the tears from coming. Rocking himself a bit more, forehead pressed against his knees, he sobbed. An ugly, loud sound filled with every bit of the emotions he felt at his core. Loss, grief, shame, guilt, stress... All of it was clutching hold of him, ripping him apart from the inside out, clawing out to consume him, dragging him down into a pit there was no escape from... 

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Futaba felt her heart sink into her stomach because Akira’s crying was the worst thing she had ever heard. It made her want to cry, too.

Moving to the bed, Futaba wrapped herself over Akira and held him, shielding him from everything around him, and, most importantly, let him cry it out. The boisterous sobbing caused her small frame to shake, but she steadied herself and didn’t let go of her brother. She would hold him until he was no longer crying because it was what he needed; he needed to know he wasn’t alone and he didn’t have to do this by himself. She was here — they were _all_ here. With him. For him. Akira was loved and Futaba hoped her hug was able to portray that.

Akira didn’t push Futaba away. He didn’t react to her being there at all. Not until she sat up for a split second to adjust her positioning, the loss of her contact making him, somehow, cry even louder.

Morgana curled up against Akira, then, purring like he knew he liked; like he usually did to soothe him and him calm down. He’d never heard him cry like this before, but he hoped that the same old attempt to help him would help him now. The fact that he’d only cried louder when his sister moved away was proof enough that he needed more comfort; that he needed every bit of attention that he could get.

Unfortunately, this was all the support he could offer.

Akira’s loud crying caught Sojiro’s attention. (With how tiny his house was, it would’ve been surprising if it hadn’t — or just a sign he didn’t care.) Quietly, he came into Futaba’s room, frowning as he watched his daughter hold... well, his _son_ (if he should be so bold). His _crying son_. He didn’t know what was going on or what he was crying about, but it was absolutely heartbreaking in how raw and real it was; it was so... broken and tired and...

... _devastating_.

Without a word, Sojiro left the room. It only took him a few moments at best, but when he returned to Futaba’s room, he had a cup of water and a small medicine cup of a pink-red, clear liquid. He knelt down in front of Akira, gently brushing his hand through his hair and lightly squeezing his shoulder to get his attention in a way that wouldn’t spook him or cause him to draw back.

Perhaps Sojiro wasn’t the most affectionate man there ever was— in fact, he _knew_ he wasn’t affectionate, least of all when it came to Akira — but he thought of this child as his son, and, right now, he needed him.

When Akira looked up at him, Sojiro bit back an involuntary, throaty gasp. He already knew about the state of Akira’s eye, cheek, and lip... but seeing his shadowy grey eyes darkened to charcoal and filled with tears, darting to look anywhere that wasn’t at him (as if trying to hide the obvious fact he had been crying); seeing his jaw violently shaking with the effort he was exerting to bite back his crying; seeing the utter _despair_ he was clearly in—

Sojiro felt everything from protectiveness to rage to his own flavor of despair in a split second.

Although he didn’t know for sure what or _who_ had hurt Akira this much, given the information he did know from the last couple of days, he could piece together an _idea_ of what had happened — and he didn’t like the idea he was coming up with.

“Here,” Sojiro said gently, holding out the medicine cup. “Take this.”

Akira didn’t bother asking what it was or why he was being given so much of it. He knew what it was and he didn’t care. He’d been given the exact same thing (in a lesser amount) the night before, to help him fall sleep... 

To be fair and completely frank, though, even if he didn’t know what it was he was being given, he would have still taken it. He wanted so desperately to feel absolutely nothing that he would swallow whatever someone gave him without question.

...that had to be a major reason he was staying with Sojiro at his home instead of the café attic: To stop him from doing something drastic.

“Drink the water, too. Your throat has to be raw.”

The whole time Sojiro was tending to him, Futaba didn’t let Akira go. Even if their guardian had come in with something to help her brother sleep, she knew what she was doing was supporting him, as well.

Sojiro got back on his feet after almost ten minutes (and it only took that long because Akira was shaky and slow about drinking the water). Akira was already becoming tired, the sleep aid wasting no time kicking in. Granted, he had been sobbing for nearly fifteen minutes and was dealing with his own demons, as well, so it made sense he was ready to sleep so quickly.

“Go ahead and some sleep,” Sojiro said and stepped back. Futaba moved away from him, too, but not before removing his uniform jacket and shoes for him so he could lay down comfortably. “You have all day tomorrow. Sleep as long as you need to.”

Akira barely had a chance to mumble out an incoherent response before he was dragged into a nothingness sleep, curled in on himself in a tight fetal position.

Sojiro sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, his other hand on his hip. He looked to Futaba, who was on her feet, arms behind her back, watching Akira sleep. For a moment, he did the same thing.

“Don’t wake him up,” Sojiro said. “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“Thank you, Sojiro.”

Sojiro left the room without another word.

Futaba sighed and continued to watch Akira sleep for a few moments longer. It all seemed to happen so fast — telling Akira that Ryuji had a palace, Akira breaking down in tears, Sojiro coming in with melatonin, and then Akira falling asleep. She felt like she needed to take a moment to absorb the fact that Akira was, in fact, actually asleep.

Futaba eventually settled on satisfied with the state her sleeping brother was in — Morgana’s purring notably helping a lot with that as he seemed to be leaning into it. She turned and went to her desk, crashed in her seat large swivel chair, and grabbed her phone. 

After hesitating for a moment, debating between if she really wanted to do this right now and knowing she had to, she finally initiated a new conversation. All she had to do was type out the first two letters of each of their names and it auto-completed their names. Simple.

[Futaba][18:52] Hey, guys. Mandatory emergency Phantom Thieves meeting tomorrow. It’ll be at Sojiro’s house.

Responses flooded in immediately. At an impressive speed, to be sure. It was like everyone on the team she had sent the message to had had their phones in hand, ready and waiting for some kind of message. 

[Ann][18:52] Why isn’t Ryuji in this chat?

[Makoto][18:52] Why isn’t Akira-kun in this chat?

[Haru][18:52] I’m confused. Isn’t our hideout at the café, though? Why the change?

[Yusuke][18:52] What’s the meeting about, Futaba?

Leave it to Yusuke to ask all the most relevant questions. The weird sense of pride she felt from the last conversation flooded through her again, but she ignored it in favor of responding to the questions.

This wasn’t about her weird crush on Yusuke, nor was it the time for it.

[Futaba][18:52] Ryuji doesn’t have a Persona.

[Futaba][18:52] Akira is in a melatonin-induced slumber at the moment. I took the initiative to send this message.

[Futaba][18:52] Akira has been sleeping at my house for the last two nights since Ryuji punched him. Sojiro wants to be able to keep an eye him.

[Futaba][18:53] Hence, the meeting is at Sojiro’s house this time.

[Futaba][18:53] The meeting is about Ryuji.

[Ann][18:53] What _about_ Ryuji?

It was strange (annoying? confusing?) how Ann replied to the conversation when there was something directly about Ryuji being mentioned, but hadn’t responded to the chat about Akira being punched.

Futaba not-so-idly wondered about that.

[Futaba][18:53] We’ll talk about it at the meeting tomorrow. Just be there. All of you.

At that last reply, Futaba cut off the chat. She hadn’t meant to be short with them, but her heart still ached and she was tired. Knowing Akira was hurting so much was the worst thing in the world — and finding out his boyfriend had a palace had only hurt him even more.

_This absolutely sucked._

* * *

****11/5  
Saturday  
Evening** **

_Look what you’ve done, Inmate!_

An intense uneasiness suddenly overtook Akira’s senses, but he found himself unsure if he wanted to be sick or if he was simply lightheaded. 

Maybe both. 

Maybe neither. 

Maybe it was something else entirely.

Before long, the uneasiness began to subside but he was left with the overwhelming realization that he couldn’t move his arms or legs. It felt like there were weights around his wrists and ankles, preventing him from truly free movement.

The only place he knew that did that was—

**_The Velvet Room_ **

_“Get up, Inmate! Our Master wishes to speak with you!”_

The sound of something hitting metal — Caroline’s baton hitting the bars of his cell — reverberated through the small room, somehow managing to replace the staticky sound in his mind, even if just for a moment. He wished he could move his hands to his ears to block out the sound, but he couldn’t lift his arms to do it.

“It is wise you obey our Master’s request, Inmate,” Justine said, her voice less intrusive than Caroline’s, but he still found himself wanting to block it out. “There is much we need to discuss with you.”

Akira was in the fetal position, facing the wall, just as he had been when he fell asleep. It was a safe position, shielding him from the world around him. He didn’t want to get up or even move, but he also didn’t want to find out what might happen if he didn’t comply with Igor.

Rolling onto his back and sitting up was the easy part.

It was swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to stand up and go to the cell door that was borderline impossible. He’d never struggled so much to move his limbs. It was almost as though the shackles were heavier, weighing him down just as his own emotional turmoil was.

Was that the reason? Was it supposed to be symbolic?

Finally, though, Akira was standing at the cell door, gripping the bars just as he usually did. He peered out into the Velvet Room, looking directly to Igor.

“Well, Trickster, it seems one of your teammates has lost their Persona,” Igor began, “and has developed a palace.” He paused to steeple his fingers and cross one leg over the other. “What an _interesting_ turn of events.”

 _“Some romantic partner you are if you couldn’t even see the development of a palace in him!”_ Caroline stomped a foot forward, holding the baton as if threatening to hit the bars again.

“Now, now, Caroline,” Justine said, as though trying to calm her sister. That wasn’t it. Her demeanor was simply because she was less excitable than Caroline. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Perhaps the Inmate simply didn’t know how to look for a palace in a teammate.”

That was unfortunately true. 

Akira had no idea how to discern the signs of a palace in a Persona user, because he had thought it was impossible. He had been told it was impossible for a Persona user to develop a palace — and he’d just blindly believed it.

That said, he should have tried harder to stop Ryuji from pushing him away.

...he should have tried at all.

“How do you intend to deal with this recent development, Trickster?” Igor asked, switching which leg he had crossed over the other. “There are aspects of this game that seem to be unplayable without your teammate.”

It was so strange.

Tears were only welling up and falling from his right eye. He didn’t even try to hide it, if only because his hands felt as though they were cemented to the bars, affixed there by the weight around his wrists. Not that he would have bothered, even if he could.

“It is perhaps possible that we did not adequately prepare the Inmate for this sort of situation,” Justine mused, turning her attention to her sister. Catching her eye after a moment, she continued. “I believe it proper that we try and aid the Inmate in effectively dismantling his teammate’s palace. What do you say, Caroline?”

Standing rigid, Caroline grasped her baton between both hands and held it perpendicular to the floor. For a moment, she looked between her sister and Akira, her features going from expressionless to irritated to distressed. When she spoke in response to Justine, she seemed a mixture between accepting and disappointed. Her tone was even calmer. It was simultaneously a relief and extremely jarring.

“I... I suppose you’re right, Justine,” Caroline said, gripping her baton. “It is possible that, perhaps, this time we were in the wrong and not the Inmate... J-Just this once.” 

Caroline looked at Akira.

More specifically, she was looking at his eye.

Even Akira could tell where her attention was drawn.

When her expression grew into that of determination, her hands twitched around her baton. She looked as though she wanted to smack her baton against the bars, but was holding back or some reason.

Was it because he was hurt?

“All right, listen up!” Caroline was back to her typical, heated tone, if not brought down an octave or two. “Since Justine and I have come to this... this _conclusion_ , we will help you. You better be grateful — and you better not let this happen again! Do you understand, Inmate?”

Akira blinked slowly and sighed, nodding. “Yes,” he said, sliding down the bars until he was on the floor. Only then did he find the ability to remove his hands, both of them promptly falling into his lap. “I understand, Caroline.”

Justine frowned, watching Akira’s display; listening to what he said and how he said it. Something about it seemed off, but she couldn’t seem to figure it out. She turned to her sister, but unfortunately she seemed to be struggling with the same confusion as she was. Not that she expected to be able to ask her what was wrong with their Inmate, of course. Neither of them understood human behavior as much as they might have liked to.

Still, Justine spoke up.

“Caroline, does something seem a little bit... off, about the Inmate?”

“He didn’t even try to sass me!” Caroline went to smack her baton against the metal bars, but as she was winding up to do it, Akira flinched. It stopped her dead in her tracks. “What’s wrong with you, Inmate? Why do you seem so... _dead_?!”

Even if Akira _had_ the wherewithal to explain to Caroline and Justine why he _seemed so dead_ — to use their phrasing (not that it didn’t adequately describe how he felt) — it wasn’t as though they would or could understand. He had taken them out on a couple of adventures through Tokyo, sure, but that only meant they were starting to understand the places he took them. Asking them to understand human emotion was asking far too much.

...and, again, even if they could understand human emotion, he simply didn’t have it in him to talk about it.

Sighing, Akira pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees. He had spent a lot of time in this position over the last couple days, because he found it made him feel secure, untouchable. It made him feel protected from the outside world as well as the intrusive thoughts in his head.

“Inmate, do you understand us?!”

“Yes, Caroline.”

“Then why do you seem so dead? If you can hear us, then do something about it! Wake up or something!”

“Caroline,” Justine said, holding out a hand to her sister, as if to stop her tirade before it started. “It is perhaps possible the Inmate is feeling an emotion we have not yet learned,” she said. She looked at him for a moment, then back to her sister. “Perhaps if we figure out that emotion, we can wake him from his dead state.”

“What?! You want us to try and figure out what the Inmate is _feeling_ ?!” Caroline balked, stomping her baton against the ground. “Justine, humans have _hundreds_ of those! How are we supposed to determine which he’s experiencing? It’s not like we can ask him; he’s dead!”

“We are smart, Caroline. We have been to his world a couple times. I am sure we can figure it out with what we have learned,” she said. She took a moment to consider her own comment. “Perhaps determining how he feels will aid us in helping the Inmate to take down his teammate’s palace,” Justine offered. “As well, it can’t hurt us to understand. We are assisting in his rehabilitation, after all.”

Caroline grumbled and stomped her baton against the ground once more, frustrated. “ _Fine_ ,” she huffed. Turning her attention to Akira, she said, “Inmate! We’re going to try and figure out why you look so dead. _You_ have to tell us if we get it right!” she explained. “Understand?”

A flicker of amusement lit within Akira. It was deep within him, residing somewhere under the crushing weight of all the pain, guilt, shame, embarrassment, and sadness he carried. The flame wasn’t anywhere near big enough to destroy any of those emotions, but it was enough to acknowledge; it was enough that he knew it was there and could feel it.

It was enough that, perhaps if he grasped for it, he could feel it for a few minutes before it was gone.

“Yes, Caroline.”

“Good.” Caroline stared at him, as if there were something to see on his bruised and battered face besides the obvious. There wasn’t, she seemed to decide. Turning back to her sister, she said, “Where do we start, Justine? This _was_ your idea, after all.”

Justine considered the question carefully, pinching her finger and thumb to her chin in thought. Her clipboard was held under her other arm. When she looked at Akira, she seemed to come to some kind of realization. Dropping her arms to her side, she straightened.

“How did you acquire those bruises, Inmate?”

Akira swallowed heavily. Of all the questions he had been expecting to hear, this wasn’t one of them — and, to be fair, he didn’t know why he wasn’t expecting it. “I...” He trailed off, averting his gaze to his lap. “It’s... I...”

“You better answer the question, Inmate!” Caroline warned. “We ask so we can provide you assistance!”

“...Ryuji hit me.”

“Ryuji?” Justine echoed, taking a moment to recall the name. “Ah. Do you mean your teammate and romantic partner? The one who seems to have developed a palace?” she asked. “Ryuji Sakamoto is his name, is it not?”

Akira nodded slowly.

“Hitting is not appropriate behavior of a romantic partner, correct?” she asked. She seemed like she already knew the answer, but was waiting for his answer all the same. “It is not appropriate behavior in any positive relationship, is that right?”

Akira hesitated, but quietly responded. “Right.”

“I see.” Justine nodded, turning to Caroline, looking rather triumphant in the way she held herself. “It appears our questioning was much easier than I thought it might be,” she said. “I believe I may have discovered the reason the Inmate appears to be dead, sister. I believe he is simply depressed.”

“Depressed?!” Caroline exclaimed, turning to Akira, balking. “Are you _serious_ , Inmate?! You made us halt your rehabilitation and our assistance to guess something as simple as that?!” She raised her baton, but once again, Akira flinched away. She didn’t hit the bars; she was merely doing this for show. It wasn’t as fun when he flinched, though, so she put it down. “We offer our assistance and you send us on a wild goose chase to discover you’re just depressed?!”

“You haven’t offered me _any_ assistance, Caroline,” Akira bit back, finding himself suddenly irritated. He was having a bit of trouble holding back his mood swings, especially when something angered him. His tone was mostly hollow, though, but there was still resilience and bite to be found. “I didn’t ask you to find out why I feel dead inside. I _know_ why I feel dead inside. I didn’t even want to end up here, but I’m sitting on the ground right now because _you_ offered me assistance for this palace — so provide me that assistance!”

So much for that amusement he was grasping to.

It was certainly a different flavor of biting back, but it was biting back all the same. Justine and Caroline shared a smile, then both of them looked at Akira, giving him the same sort of smile.

Innocently delighted. Bright. Radiating sunshine—

Akira instantaneously lost steam, anger dying. He couldn’t tell what it became, but it didn’t matter. It would become something else before long.

With a sigh, he looked down at his hands, closing his eyes.

_Sunshine._

“That is correct, Inmate,” Justine said, kneeling down in front of the bars. Caroline followed suit. Both of them put their hands on their legs. It was such a strange act, coming from them. Akira couldn’t figure out what it meant. “We did promise to help you and we will help you.”

Akira acknowledged Justine with a quiet sigh.

“I believe I understand quite a bit of this situation,” Justine proceeded. “This person is your romantic partner and he has developed a palace. As your partner is — was? — a Persona user, I am included to believe this palace was not created of an insidious nature,” she said. “I believe at the worst, based on your own emotional state, the resolve of your teammate has merely been shaken, though I cannot seem to fathom the reason.”

“Inmate. Think about the last time you saw your teammate,” Caroline said. “Did he seem sad? Angry? Scared? If you can figure out what emotions he was experiencing, perhaps you can figure out why this palace has formed — and what triggered it. If Justine can figure out you’re depressed so quickly, you should have no problem figuring out you romantic partner.”

...except that Akira had let Ryuji push him away and then he was stoic about his boyfriend losing his Persona.

Apparently being a ‘good boyfriend’ wasn’t his strong suit.

_“Perhaps Ryuji has merely lost his Will of Rebellion.”_

Ryuji had punched Akira when he tried to bring up the idea.

...and then it turned out Ryuji had developed a palace.

_Why had Ryuji grabbed his head and screamed like he was in pain?_

_How long had Futaba known about the palace?_

Something in Akira’s mind sounded on the verge of frying. He couldn’t reel over this again; he couldn’t _deal with this_ again. A violent static began filling the space between his ears, caped by a loud ringing.

All of a sudden, all those raging emotions that had been trying to put out the flame of amusement before, they were suddenly the ones being snuffed out — by something far worse than pain and shame and whatever else he had felt. The roaring wildfire of emotions he had been carrying with him were being extinguished by... _nothing_ —

—and Akira felt incredibly hollow.

Ryuji didn’t deserve this; he didn’t deserve him. This was Akira’s fault. He had done enough wallowing in his own battlefield of emotions; now was the time to get down to business and take down this palace.

Perhaps emotionless was the wrong resolve.

...but Akira didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to care.

Whether he wanted it to happen or not, his resolve was set; his emotions drained to nothing, as if to protect him from further pain. How could one feel pain if they didn’t have emotions to hurt? At least he could focus on this palace now; could focus on what was _actually important_.

“Inmate?” Caroline said, shaking her baton in front of Akira’s face to get his attention. “Inmate, are you listening?! You better be listening!”

It was surprising Akira could hear anything through the static; through the awful the ringing. This was better, though. He could focus on the task at hand. He could be undistracted by emotions if his mind was too fuzzy, too staticy, to even process them. He could fix his boyfriend’s problems without worrying about his own.

...and maybe he could even redeem himself as a romantic partner, because he certainly wasn’t a shining example of one now.

If Akira deserved _anything,_ it was being sucker punched like he had.

A twinge of something faint twisted in Akira’s gut before his mind went completely blank; before he found himself in a void of sorts, unsure if he was awake or asleep or even still in the Velvet Room.

...Caroline and Justine had smiled at him.

They had nice smiles.

* * *

 **11/6**  
Sunday  
Daytime

“When are you going to tell us what this is about, Futaba?”

“As soon as Akira joins us.”

Ann narrowed her eyes at Futaba, but otherwise kept the irritation off her features. There was no point in scowling at her when this wasn’t her fault; when it wasn’t her she was actually annoyed with, but rather Akira. 

That didn’t mean she was able to keep the irritation out of her tone, though she tried to keep from seeming like she was directing it at her.

“You texted us saying this was some _emergency meeting_ , so I expected to be _told about_ the emergency when I got here. If it’s such an emergency, _then where the hell is he_ ? Is it not an emergency to _him_ ?” she almost spat, even referencing Akira leaving a sour taste in her mouth. “It has been almost an hour and a half and we still know nothing! I have a date with Shiho tonight, you know. I’m going to be pissed if I miss it. Especially if it’s because of _Akira_.”

“Ann...” Futaba responded, her back straight and her arms held behind it; her voice meek but assured as always. It was a little more quiet than usual, perhaps, because she knew for a fact her brother was still asleep. The number of hours he had spent asleep was slowly gaining up on the twenty hour mark, though she wasn’t as worried as she could have been, all things considered. “I... I know what it looks like. Honest, I do. Just... _please_ try and calm down. I promise Akira will join us soon and everything is going to make sense when he does, all right?”

Futaba didn’t bother asking Ann to not be mad at Akira. She could certainly understand why she was. Her brother wasn’t the type of person to show his emotions. (When he did, they were massive, earth-shattering emotions.) It made it seem as though everything that happened in Sae’s palace was, in some way, Akira’s fault. (If she knew her brother as much as she thought she did, he also thought it was his fault.) As Ann didn’t know what was causing her longtime best friend to act strangely, she did the only thing she could do and put the blame on someone who seemed guilty enough to take the burden.

It made sense.

Futaba didn’t blame Ann for being protective of Ryuji, if only because they had been friends/known one another for a long time. Thinking about her connection with Akira in only a few short months, she could only imagine how Ann felt with regard to Ryuji.

“Just... Be patient. Please. Everything will make sense soon enough, Ann. I promise.”

To tell the truth... Ann kind of wanted to tell off Futaba... because it irritated her that she seemed so calm when she was utterly outraged; it irritated her that she had an air of calm that felt inappropriate to this situation.

It irritated her that—

...well, maybe she _did_ need to calm down a little bit.

Crossing her arms, she leaned back on the sofa and took a moment to glance around the room. Everyone looked sad and confused. It was quiet, too, and not just because the atmosphere around them was somber and so tense it could be cut with a knife.

...a room without Ryuji was... eerily quiet.

Ann never realized before, not until now, how empty these meetings were without Ryuji. It was quieter to be sure, but it was also... sadder. Lonelier, somehow. The happiness and brightness ( _the sunshine_ — as Akira would have called it) he brought to the team far outweighed any yelling he did, which was usually only ever in response to awful adults or Morgana calling him names, anyway.

Ryuji was their moral support. 

Their cheerleader.

No one knew why they were here, but she was the only one throwing a fit over it. How could she not, though? Although she had no idea what this meeting was about, she had a feeling it had something to do with Ryuji. In fact, she was _sure_ it had something to do with Ryuji. Calling for an Emergency Phantom Thieves Meeting so soon after her (their) best friend suddenly lost his Persona was far too convenient to not align somehow.

Perhaps she was being a bit too nasty.

It was just that... She had no idea what was going on, and it was easy to blame Akira... because it looked like his fault... and she had no other explanations.

Not yet, she supposed.

For several minutes, everyone in the room was quiet.

The sliding door leading into the family room the Phantom Thieves were congregated in was closed. That said, when the floorboards directly outside the door began to quietly creak, everyone looked up at it, fixated as if one of them would develop powers to see through it.

The creaking outside the door stopped. 

A moment later, the door opened, revealing Akira — who looked as though he had been absolutely through it, leaving him distant. More distant than he usually was, when he was trying to conceal his emotions.

It was kind of working this time, kind of not.

“Oh,” he said, coming into the room and closing the door. He took a seat on the sofa next to Haru, sitting with his back straight and his arms in his lap. He looked around the room, taking in expressions he couldn’t read. “I guess I missed the memo. Sorry.”

“Do you know why we’re here, Akira-kun?” Haru asked in a tone even more gentle and kind than she usually spoke in, but with an unmistakable flicker of sadness. “Do you know what this meeting is for?”

 _Yes_.

Akira shrugged.

“Ah, Akira... You’ve arrived. We can begin our meeting.”

Yusuke sounded normal.

Too normal.

Did he not notice how much tension was in the room? It was palpable beyond belief and could be cut with a knife. For him to sound so normal would mean he either had no idea what was going on or he didn’t care.

It was impossible that Yusuke didn’t care...

...but how could he not know what was going on?

“Um... S-Sorry to keep everyone waiting...” Akira pulled his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He put his chin on his knees and let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes. “Go on, Futaba.”

“Ehm...” Futaba cleared her throat, stealing one more glance at Yusuke before turning her attention to the group. She stood up straight as usual, her arms held behind her back. It made her feel taller, and feeling taller was what she needed right now, as she addressed the team on this... extremely important matter. “Well, ah, now that Akira has joined us, we... we can finally start this meeting.”

What was the best way to say this?

Did she ease into it or did she jump right in?

Akira already knew about the situation, so it wasn’t like she had to break the news to him. (She just hoped that hearing it again didn’t hurt him more.) He was arguably the hardest one to tell, but that didn’t mean the rest of the team would be easy.

Futaba cleared her throat.

“I’m sure everyone remembers the incident in Sae Niijima’s palace, when Ryuji lost control of his Persona.” She paused for everyone’s affirmative, lingering her attention on Akira, who seemed to be recalling the memory. She couldn’t tell by his expression if he was feeling pain or not, but he probably was. “During the meeting in the safe room, Akechi provided a hypothesis, as I’m sure you all remember: Ryuji lost his Will of Rebellion—” There was definitely a small wince from Akira at that comment, Futaba saw from the corner of her eye. Everyone else seemed to notice it, as well. “—and, um... I... I decided to research that idea.”

Now came the hard part.

“What I found out boils down to this: It _is_ possible for a Persona user to lose their Persona if they lose their Will of Rebellion,” she explained, carefully choosing her words to make this as easy as possible to understand. “In Ryuji’s case, unfortunately, I don’t know what he... isn’t rebelling against anymore, but whatever that is, it’s created a, um... distortion within him.”

Futaba paused.

Everyone, except for Akira, sucked in a sharp breath.

Morgana didn’t react, either. He already knew and, besides that, he was busy focusing on Akira; keeping him calm and ensuring he didn’t have an emotional spike. 

Realization slapped everyone else in the room across the face as Futaba watched everyone’s eyes go wide. There was a unison gasp amongst everyone else on the team.

Yusuke spoke up. “A _distortion_?” he spluttered, making eye contact with Futaba. “Futaba, do you mean to say that Ryuji has a—?”

Everyone else looked down, but they were all still listening as Futaba continued. In case she said something they didn’t know or hadn’t already pieced together — but also because this was important and they needed to listen.

“Yes,” she whispered, nodding to Yusuke. “The distortion, whatever his distortion is, was permitted to fester. Since he continued to _not rebel_ against his growing distortion, a palace formed, which pushed his Persona out of the way,” she said. “It’s still there; he still has his Persona, from what I gathered from my research, but... At this point, until something is done about his palace, he’ll remain unable to summon it.”

Everyone had so many questions (for Futaba, for Akira, about Ryuji) but no one knew where to start; no one knew if asking any of those questions was a good idea, especially questions for Akira. They didn’t even know if making _eye contact_ with one another would be wise right now, despite the overwhelming curiosity to see how everyone else was responding.

“So... then...” Makoto narrowed her eyes slightly, staring at a spot on the floor. “What you’re basically saying is: Ryuji’s p-palace is too strong for his Persona to keep away or destroy because Ryuji... quit rebelling?”

Futaba sighed softly. “Basically...”

“Thank you, Futaba.”

Makoto sighed and nodded, leaning back in her seat, unable to think of any further questions. For a moment, she closed her eyes, finding it easier to reel over all the new information that way.

Everyone felt the same way; was doing the same thing.

Even Akira had his eyes closed, but it wasn’t actually clear if he was reeling or had fallen asleep. It was possible he had fallen asleep, as he was the one the most hurt by Ryuji and his distortion. If he was asleep, after all, it meant he didn’t have to deal with the emotions he was trying so desperately to suppress.

This was hurting everyone.

“Do we know the location and the distortion?” Ann asked.

“No.” Futaba shook her head. “Not yet.”

“The location would have to be his apartment. That’s where he spends all his time — unless he’s doing something else, like hanging out with Akira or Phantom Thieves stuff or something,” she said, glancing at their leader. 

No reaction. 

Akira was definitely asleep. 

Ann frowned slightly as she watched him sleep. She had to apologize to him, she resolved, for being so nasty to him over the last couple days. She understood now that none of this was his fault and she had no right to blame him.

_Someone needed to cover up that bruise with a bandage. Why had no one done that for him yet?_

“Plus, I can’t see why his palace location would be anywhere else...” 

Ann paused to allow Futaba time to retrieve her phone and hand it off. Considering she had already been using the Meta Nav to find Ryuji, his name was saved in the app’s history. She pulled up the app, found the correct historical entry to bring up, and sighed through her nose before speaking as clearly as possible into the phone.

“Aika and Ryuji Sakamoto’s apartment.”

_“Hit.”_

“I’m sorry if this should be obvious, Ann, but... um... Aika Sakamoto?” Haru asked. She had been watching the phone (the same as the rest of the team who was awake) as it chimed the affirmative _Hit_ , but curiosity caught up with her and she looked toward Ann. “Who is Aika-san?”

“Ryuji’s mother. Her name is Aika-san.”

“Oh. What a beautiful name.”

Haru gave a half-smile and nodded, sitting back in her seat. She glanced at and watched Akira sleep for a moment, holding his legs in a sitting fetal position. He looked even more distraught than he had when she had helped him off the floor at school — but that made sense. 

After all, his boyfriend had a palace.

“Thank you, Ann.”

Ann returned the half-smile and nodded.

Smiling felt traitorous, almost.

The person on their team with the biggest smile had developed a palace. The slow and painful realization that it might be, and probably was, at least in some part, the fault of everyone in this room, was starting to weigh heavy on everyone’s minds.

How could they smile when Ryuji wasn’t smiling?

“All right,” Futaba said, clearing her throat. She was in possession of her own phone again. “We have the name and the place. All we need now is a distortion.” She paused, frowned, and looked down at her phone as if the MetaNav would give her a hint. “Does anyone have any ideas?”

There was a long silence from everyone in the room, as if someone had just announced a death and they were giving a moment out of respect. No one was looking at one another, and especially no one was looking at Akira, lest they begin feeling responsible for his current state. Guilt and shame was already palpable and crushing within the room. It was enough to keep everyone weighed down.

Even Morgana was no longer fussing over Akira.

Of everyone in the room, Morgana was _the most_ guilty of putting Ryuji through shit—

—and in second place, but so close to being tied for first it hardly mattered to make a distinction about it, was the one who was spearheading this entire meeting: Futaba.

They shared a glance at one another and, although neither of them were mind-readers, it was more than obvious what they were both thinking with that shared look.

_We fucked up._

Both of them were incredibly mean to Ryuji, both in and out of the Metaverse. 

Both of them made snide comments about everything he did, and Morgana downright called him names. Futaba made backhanded comments about his performance as a Phantom Thief, while never really providing him praise for what he did well. She also made comments about whether members of the opposite sex would be interested in him like she knew anything about relationships — at least _he_ had a boyfriend… 

…and Morgana certainly wasn’t any better when it came to the snide comments about his ability to get a partner, as if he didn’t know deep down (and overtly, considering she had come out as a lesbian) that he was _never_ going to get with Lady Ann.

They were both horribly guilty of insulting his intelligence and… well, pretty much every aspect of who he was as a person.

“I’ve been trying so many things,” Futaba said. “I… I have no idea what his distortion could be. It feels like I should know it, but—”

Morgana sighed softly, dropping his head. “I… You aren’t alone, Futaba. I don’t know, either. I have no idea what he could see his home as… I didn’t even know anything was wrong…” he said, frowning as he looked across the room at Ann who was assuming lost in her own thoughts. “Can you think of anything? Do you have any ideas, Lady Ann?”

Ann didn’t acknowledge that she heard Morgana. She was lost in her own thoughts.

Ryuji was Ann’s best friend. Maybe they had drifted apart a little for a while in their first year of high school, but they were still long-time best friends.

No one would know it, though…

…and certainly not with the way Ann talked to Ryuji as though she thought he was the dumbest person in the world; as though she thought every idea he had was idiotic and that all of his complaints were unjust. 

Every time he ever fought with Morgana, he would always tell him to stop it (…and, granted, she always told the _both_ of them to knock it off, but she could imagine where Ryuji still interpreted that as being sided against… because Morgana was a cat no matter what way it was sliced). It wasn’t as though she didn’t know who always started it; it wasn’t as though she didn’t know who was always dishing it out the most, and against whom, and yet…

…she _still_ sided on neutrality and, worse, she _still_ made her own rude comments… like she didn’t know _exactly_ what he has been through with his dad better than anyone else in the room.

The worst part of all was... she couldn’t even think of what his distortion would be.

“No.” She sighed, still looking down at her hands. “I have no idea what it could be. I don’t even have a _guess_ , except… a pirate ship, maybe? You know, because…” She made a vague gesture with her hands.

Everyone looked up for a moment, hopeful, but unfortunately the MetaNav replied back with _“No candidates found,”_ which pulled a soft sigh of frustration from everyone in the room.

Except for Akira, of course…

…who was somehow still asleep through all the talking. He really did sleep like a rock… when he wasn’t sleeping alone, that was.

It would’ve even been sweet if everything weren’t so tragic right now; if the reason Akira was asleep like that wasn’t because of the last forty-eight hours being almost as rough and relentless on him as the last two weeks had likely been on Ryuji.

_We need to figure out that distortion._

Makoto Niijima was just as guilty as everyone else when it came to being a horrible friend to Ryuji. She was rude to him in the Metaverse; she… took over and stomped all over his ideas…

Hell, she even knew she made him nervous — it was always _“Yes, ma’am”_ this, and _“No ma’am”_ that from him — and yet… she exploited that; she took full advantage of it. Never once did she try and actually help him, except for maybe when they were in a group… where they were all doing something together… and even then, was it really helping _him_ if she was helping everyone?

Especially with studying, for example.

The team would always study together as a group for exams and Ryuji would _still_ nearly fail all of them… and what did _she_ do? She _berated_ him for it; told him he wasn’t trying hard enough… as if tough love like that ever got anything done.

Wasn’t she supposed to get to the bottom of things? Wasn’t that her _whole thing_ as a person? To find the answer and get to the bottom line of things, ultimately helping her fellow students?

Some Student Council President she was… She couldn’t even be bothered to help someone who was pleasant and loyal enough to call her a friend, despite the abysmal way she treated him.

…and what was _even_ _worse_? 

_She had no idea what his distortion could be._

“Don’t worry, Ann,” Makoto said and sighed. “I have no clue what his distortion could be, either. I don’t have a _clue_ of what it could be.”

“Any guesses at all will work…” Futaba murmured, sighing as she looked down at her phone. “We… we have to figure this out. We _need_ to get into this palace. He _has_ to have distortion… doesn’t he?”

“That is… how it’s always worked before,” Yusuke spoke up, awarding himself a look from everyone in the room. “Perhaps it’s like Kaneshiro,” he offered. “Perhaps we’re… too inside the box? I… this is Ryuji, after all.”

Yusuke sighed and looked down at his hands, not sure how to explain his thoughts. He never was, to be fair. Perhaps that inability to explain his thoughts had resulted in a… negative impact on Ryuji.

Was it somehow possible he was responsible for Ryuji developing a palace? Perhaps not _solely_ responsible, but was it all possible he had inadvertently been a stepping stone, a building block toward the _overall_ _development_ of this palace?

What was frustrating was that he couldn’t even come up with a reason why he would be responsible. He couldn’t fathom… what he could have possibly said or done to result in… in something like this. 

Also, he couldn’t come up with a distortion. 

This one truly was an _out of the box_ type answer, just like Kaneshiro had been…

…but the one who had figured out Kaneshiro was Ryuji; the one who had thought outside the box enough to find the answer _was Ryuji_ , even if it had been an accident and he hadn’t been trying.

“Jail?” Yusuke offered. “I believe he once said Akira coming into his life was like freedom, so… a jail?”

_“No candidates found.”_

“That was a good guess, though, Yusuke,” Futaba said, looking at him. “I remember Akira telling me he said that.”

“Unfortunately… We aren’t any closer to finding the answer,” Yusuke said, sighing as he leaned in and rested his arms on his legs. “What do you think, Haru? Do you have any guesses? Any at all, at this point, would suffice.”

“Oh dear…”

Haru was the newest member of the team. 

When she joined the team, Akira and Ryuji hadn’t started dating yet, but they were close. She credited her official joining date to the Phantom Thieves as the nineteenth of September, and they started dating on the third of October — so she’d barely known either of them outside of being a couple.

Really, she hardly knew either of them at all, except that Akira liked coffee as much as she did — and Ryuji enjoyed foreign music (specifically, music in English) and hadn’t had a great home life growing up. 

Not to mention, Ryuji was great at playing matchmaker. He had given her a lot of pointers in asking Makoto out on a date when she admitted to Ryuji one night that she had a thing for her fellow third year.

She also knew that Akira was far more emotional than he let on, but that was only because she’d helped him off the floor at school; that was only because she had witnessed him crying first hand… and it had been absolutely awful to see. She hated knowing how much he was hurting.

…but this wasn’t about Akira… except that it kind of was, a little bit… because for some reasons, Ryuji was avoiding Akira. She could see that plain as day. She just wished she knew more about either of them so she could figure out why.

Unfortunately, that was… really about all she knew of her fellow teammate.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have much of a guess,” she said to Yusuke. “I don’t really know either of them very well, so…” She trailed off and sighed. “How’re we meant to determine his distortion? There could be any kind of storm going on within him.”

_“Candidate found. Beginning navigation.”_

…

Storm?

“Haru, you got it!” Futaba exclaimed, her volume enough to wake up her brother. When she noticed him stirring, she turned to him and said, “Akira, we’ve got it! We got all Ryuji’s keywords. We can get into his palace!”

Akira groaned and narrowed his eyes, furrowing his eyebrow, as he rubbed his eyes with his arm. It took him a moment to recover from his overall grogginess.

“Okay,” he finally said. His voice was monotone but no one said anything of it. He was dealing with his own internal battle; they all understood that. “We’ll prepare tonight and go in after school tomorrow,” he said. “It’s much too late to do this tonight, and we’re not prepared.”

Akira was quiet for a beat, then said, as though he just thought of it, “Good job, everyone.” There wasn’t much fanfare in his tone, but, again, it was understandable. “Good job figuring out the keywords. Meet here tomorrow.”

With that, he curled up into himself, put his head on the back of the couch, and went back to sleep as if nothing had just happened.

Meeting adjourned…

…apparently.


End file.
